


The Good Life

by chaotic_goodish



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 65,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaotic_goodish/pseuds/chaotic_goodish
Summary: Life seemed to be heading in a perfectly planned direction for Mitch, until one stupid mistake ruined it all. Now out on his own for the first time and driven by hatred for his father, he takes a job as far away from his old life as possible. An ordinary Mexican restaurant in San Diego with anything but ordinary staff will completely turn his life upside down, for better or for worse.





	1. Auld Lang Syne

New Year's Eve.

A time to take stock of the last twelve months. To think what we've gained... Or what we've lost. 

About relationships that have changed or...ones that always stay the same.

And it's a time to look forward; to wonder what the year ahead has in store for us.

My name is Mitch Grassi. And this time last year I could never have imagined that I'd be where I am today.

I guess it just goes to prove, that no matter where you think your life may be heading, the path is never set in stone.

This time last year, I never imagined I could ever be happy again. I never imagined that I was destined for anything other than eternal misery. And I honestly thought I deserved it; as payment for my sins.

But that was before I met him. Yeah. That was before I would meet the man who would change my life as I knew it.

Forever.


	2. No Money

San Diego. Land of the white sand beaches and home of...something Mitch didn't care for he was sure.  _Don't they hold that comic book nerdy thing here?_  Definitely not his cup of tea.

There wasn't a cloud in the sky as he stared out of the bus window that would be taking him to his new place of work. It was nearing midday and the sun was shining harshly through the glass, causing sweat beads to form underneath his neatly combed hair. The extreme heat was not something he was much used to, the annual two weeks vacation in Venice as a child not really helping with this rare hot day. He'd been told that despite it's southern location, San Diego rarely exceeded seventy in temperature. It would be his luck that on his first day at work in a busy kitchen, it was nearly a hundred.

San Diego itself was a city of deep canyons and hills separating its mesas. Traditionally most of the homes and businesses had been built on these mesas, splitting the city into segments and contributing to its low density. It also meant the majority of the neighbourhoods were car-centred, extremely helpful when he had yet to buy one.

And so that was why he was getting the bus, the one he had nearly missed when his apartment door had helpfully jammed itself shut somehow during the night. Mitch had a feeling the wood had been sweating from the heat in the night and swollen up. It was just another job to add to the never-ending list of issues to sort out with his apartment.

There was already the leaky bath, the loose panelling in the kitchen and the dodgy light in the living room. There was a reason the place had come cheap. The neighbourhood his rented apartment was located in had a median income $25,000. A big difference to the $95,000 average in the streets he grew up in.

Living in a cramped apartment - in what Mitch's college buddies would call a ghetto neighbourhood - was definitely not what he foresaw for himself a year ago. He had graduated from NYU Stern Business School last year and stepped straight into a high tier job at his father's business.

A year ago he was busy attending meetings and gaining more clients and earning the company even more money. He had worked solidly though the week and partied just as hard at the weekends. He was someone people wanted to hang around with. He thought it was because they liked him. He was wrong.

In fact he had been wrong about a lot of things. He had thought his life would be pretty straight forward. He was born in Manhattan at Presbyterian Hospital. He was raised in the upper east side, in a five story townhouse in the extremely affluent Lenox Hill neighbourhood. His mother and father were both entrepreneurs, husband and wife but also business partners.

His mom was the one who did most of the parenting. His mom was the one who nurtured and loved him, read him stories, taught him how to ride a bike. His mom was the one he clung to on his first day at kindergarten. His mom was the one he always drew pictures for. His mom was the last one to kiss him goodnight at bedtime. His mom was the one who was killed in a bank robbery when he was just five years old.

She had gone in to set up a trust fund for his sixth birthday and left with a shotgun wound to her stomach. She died two hours later at hospital. Mitch also felt that a part of him died that day too. The part that could laugh freely and live life joyfully, leaving in it's wake just an emptiness.

 _But hey_ , he often thought.  _That's life._

And so the majority of his childhood the boy had been raised by people - mainly women - who had been hired by his father. He often thought that was why his view of the opposite sex was a lot more positive than that of his fellow man. Girls really did run the world, because if you thought about it, they were the ones who raised the next generation the majority of the time. I mean, how many times did you hear of a woman walking out on her children leaving a single father on his own. Obviously it did happen, just nowhere near as much as the other way round. 

Don't get him wrong, he and his father got along - or had gotten along - well enough. They weren't what you would call close; the both of them very guarded with their emotions which could make for some terse conversations but it wasn't like they had argued a lot either.

Feelings weren't something either of them expressed very easily, and there had been many a time growing up when Mitch had kept things that had been bothering him - when he was being bullied at school or his father had made a snide comment about his dress sense - bottled up inside, learning to hide behind sarcastic wit and forced smiles.

Coming out to his father had taken over a year since Mitch came to realise he preferred boys to girls and that had been one hell of an awkward dinner out. He had told his father in company just in case he kicked off but quite the contrary, the man had choked slightly on his food and told him fair enough. Still, he had ignored him for the rest of the evening as the boy simmered in anger at the blatant dismissal.

But that was the extent of their squabbles. They had to work together so remaining polite was kind of essential. Coming to work for his dad's company straight out of college had earned him some jealous glares and rude comments behind his back about a trust fund kid getting everything handed to him on a plate but Mitch had soon proven his worth when he began getting the big names on board. He was good at his job, pure and simple. The result of two incredibly business-minded people reproducing.

His first year had gone beyond well. He had been due a raise. But then he had made a mistake. It had been a simple business mistake and a terrible misjudgement on his part that lost the company huge amounts of money and put a few people out of their jobs. His dad had handled the damage enough to make sure the outcome wasn't disastrous but the damage on Mitch's reputation had been done.

When his father had asked him why, why had he taken the huge risk that endangered the jobs of so many? Mitch couldn't come up with a better answer other than it was an opportunity to make huge amounts of money at such a young age was too much of a pull. That wasn't the real reason, but it was the only one he could provide for his old man at the time.

And so as a punishment his father had cut him off and cut his trust fund, saying he could only come back when he'd learnt to fend for himself. It had come as a shock when all his supposed friends and work colleagues had cut him off also. People he had been going out with for years suddenly all became unwilling to lend him some money or let him sleep at theirs.

 _Fuck them. Fuck the lot of them._  Mitch didn't need them or his dad in his life.

He suspected his father only expected for Mitch to move to another part of the city, or possibly the state, maybe to New Jersey, but Mitch had been too angry. He thought it had been a slight against his dad when he informed him he was moving to California but quickly realised the joke was on him. He knew absolutely no one in the state, had only visited Los Angeles once during summer break, and mentioning his father's company over there didn't impress anyone.

But anyway, he had moved as far away as he could get. In fact, if he travelled just a little further south he'd be in Mexico. After calling around for days and sending emails he had finally scored a job as a kitchen assistant in an independent Mexican restaurant called Mestizo's. He had nearly given up on finding a well paying job when he had no relevant experience, only to get on a call with Antonio, the owner of the restaurant, who immediately rejected him only to call him back half an hour later to offer him a job paying $23,000 a year -  _ha, that'll fit me right in with my new neighbours_  - and an immediate start.

So he had rented the cheapest apartment he could find, booked the first flight out and was now starting work two days later. Hopping off the bus, he checked his phone for the directions and headed off in the blistering heat.

Mestizo's was a small and unassuming building that you could smell way before you saw it. It advertised itself as an authentic taste of Mexico, but in reality it was just the same as the next major chain. Nothing special about it. It had the concrete archways and columns typical with Spanish architecture and a multitude of lights hanging from the roof and doorways. Bright yellow letters spelt out Mestizo's above the door but Mitch could see the staff entrance round the back.

He steeled himself and attempted to calm his nerves. He didn't really manage to but there was no turning back now.

_This is it._

New city, new job. New start. Just until he had enough money to catch a business flight back home and start his own business to show his dad what he was made of tougher material than the asshole thought.


	3. Superfast

The staff door was more of a number of stone steps leading into a dark and smoky tunnel rather than an official entrance. It didn't look very welcoming. Mitch cautiously made his way down the condensation covered steps - breaking a leg wouldn't be the best way to start the day - and pushed aside the metal chains that often acted as the door for restaurant kitchens.

"Uh...hello?" he called out into the dimness. He could see a light and hear the clanging of plates and the sizzling on food down the hallway but there was no one around to tell him where he was supposed to go.

"Hey!" A guy with a big beard and long hair, who was wearing a chef's hat, appeared from around the corner, having just finished emptying the trash. He walked over to Mitch with a huge smile on his face, waiting for him to explain why he was just peeping through the entrance.

Before Mitch could even reply, the guy had reached out and started shaking his hand.  _Uhh_... Mitch was unused to this kind of unforced friendliness and was at a loss for words to start with. "...I'm Mitch Grassi..." he mumbled, finding his tongue again. "I start work here today? Kitchen assistant?"

He was replying with questions because this guy was still just staring and smiling at him, but looking like he hadn't a clue what he was talking about. Mitch just stared back, imagining he could see the gears in the guy's brain ticking over on this thought.

"Ah yeah!" Obviously something had suddenly clicked. "Of course man!" He shook Mitch's hand vigorously some more and breezed through the metal chains. "C'mon I'll show you where you can change. The name's Avi by the way," he added.

"You're a chef?" Mitch asked, following the smiley guy through a small door that lead into a staff changing room.

"Yeah, yeah! Sous chef!" Avi laughed. "What gave it away?" He joked, referring to the uniform he was wearing. Mitch just hoped the one he was given wasn't anything like the state of the clothes this guy was wearing.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" Avi commented amiably, reaching into a drawer and pulling out the typical white jacket and pants.

"Not really, San Diego is practically melting." That statement...if Mitch had said it with more charisma, or even in any voice apart from the dull, bored one he used, then that sentence would have been received as a friendly jest rather than condescending. As it happened Avi's smile dropped as Mitch awkwardly stood there waiting for the man to leave so he could get ready.

"Right..." Avi drawled, "ah...you can get changed here and join us when you're ready. I'll have Kevin show you ropes," the man informed him while he slowly backed away towards the door, his early happy demeanour thoroughly diminished.

"Okay. Thank you." Mitch said to no one, because Avi had already run away.

 _Well that was a good start._  He'd somehow managed to alienate the friendliest man he had ever met within five minutes. Mitch had always thought he was good at talking to new people, but now realised that the new people in the past had always been rich businessmen and women.  _Making conversation with these kinds of people requires a different style of tact._  What should he talk about then?  _Sport?_  Mitch knew nothing about sport.

As he pulled the uniform over his clothes - not a nice feeling at all in the heat - he grimaced as he noticed the old orange and yellow stains left over on the pants, and the stiffness of the jacket that gave him the impression it hadn't been washed since the last sweaty person had worn it. They were not also about two sizes too big, giving him a kind of a melting snowman look. A far change from the smart designer suits that had been the norm back in the city.

He exited the staff room and made his way down the short hallway to what he assumed was the kitchen, judging by the large amounts of shouting and heat coming from that direction. He had to push his way through another load of those metal chains before he emerged into what could be described as controlled chaos. Or perhaps it was just chaos.

Everything in that kitchen was happening at superfast speed. There were about twelve people - mainly men - all dressed similarly to him rushing around, shouting at each other and sweating profusely. A chorus of "Yes, chef's" and one very loud "Wake up!" echoed around the grey metal and white tile kitchen. Mitch had never set foot in a restaurant kitchen before, so had no idea what the hygiene standard was meant to be but it was surprisingly not as bad as he had predicted. Everything was relatively clean and the utensils and equipment were mostly sparkling.

He spotted his only acquaintance so far talking to a dark skinned man while the latter was working a grill. As he walked up to them he saw Avi glance briefly behind him and mutter: "Be careful. Got a bit of a stick up his ass this one," loud enough for Mitch to hear. He didn't know if he was intended to or not.

Giving Avi a pat on the shoulder, the other man left his work station and walked over to Mitch, wiping his greasy hands on his pants.

"Mitch, a kitchen uniform suits you!" They shook hands, Mitch gritting his teeth as the grease got passed on to him.

 _C'mon, stop being such a baby_ , he chastised himself. If he was going to work here he was going to have to get used to a little bit of grease.

"I'm Kevin - one of four resident line cooks - I'll be keeping an eye on ya today," the man chatted away, leading Mitch to a work station in the corner of the kitchen. "You've already met Avi, that handsome fella over there is Mario," he pointed to a larger man who was busy serving food onto plates. "Then you've got," Kevin began listing and pointing to the rest of the staff but Mitch gave up listening. All he heard was "Spanish name", "Jamaican name", "country in Africa name", "Spanish name" again. He wasn't going to remember any of them.

"And the guy you don't want to get on the wrong side of is Cesar, he's exec chef," Kevin told him and Mitch did actually pay attention this time when the other man gestured to a Mexican man with a moustache that looked comically villainous, who doing most of the shouting. For him, Mitch did take a note of his name. He was he only guy he would be looking to impress in here.

"As a kitchen assistant, or prep cook as we say here, you'll have a whole load of responsibilities; making pasta to cleaning produce, I'm sure you know." Actually Mitch didn't know. What were these guys going to expect him to be able to do?  _I don't even know the first thing about making pasta, and I'm half Italian!_

"The best part is you get to learn on the job from these geniuses!" He motioned to the rest of the kitchen staff. "The bad part is you're gonna have to get used to the monotony of shucking cases of corn," Kevin said with a grin.  _Why is everyone so happy here?_

"This will be your trusty tool," his guide held up a roll of plastic wrap and set it in Mitch's hands. "And the words "yes" and "chef" will soon be the main part of your vocabulary," he finished before getting Mitch started by telling him to cut up and cook chicken ready for the mass stream of enchilada and taco orders they were bound to get at the lunch time rush.

Even that was a bit of stretch for Mitch's culinary talents, as he had to be corrected three times before he selected the write knife and then cut the chicken like he might revive itself suddenly and attack him.

Kevin stood and watched with his eyebrows raised. "So how much experience did you say you had?" he slowly asked after a few minutes of watching Mitch work.

"I didn't."

"Yeah that's funny," he huffed out a small laugh. "How much experience have you had?" he asked again, this time with a voice that insisted he didn't want to be messed around any more.

"Business," Mitch simply answered, hoping the other guy would stop interrogating but apparently his chicken cutting skills were bad enough to demand answers as Kevin didn't let it go.

"What?" the man queried.

"I worked in business," Mitch repeated.

"The food business?"

"Nope. Advertising."

Kevin was quiet now but when Mitch risked a glance up at him he could see the look of wonder spread blatantly across the other man's face. It was a look that said "who the heck is this guy?". Mitch couldn't really blame him. If someone had turned up at his business saying their only previous experience had been in mechanics, he would have given them their notice instantly. At least it seemed like he was going to be able to stick around for a while here.

Still, Kevin quickly made his excuses to leave Mitch on his own once the younger man had started frying the chicken. "You carry on with that," he told him. "I've just gotta check something by Avi."

_Right, this is easy. Just cook it until all the pink bits are gone. How hard can that be?_

He wasn't filled with much confidence however as he overheard Kevin joking with Mario and Avi about the owner of the restaurant taking the term "saving money on lower-qualified staff" a little too seriously.

Mitch tried his best to ignore them and continued cooking the chicken, turning it over in the huge frying pan while it sizzled and spat at him until he heard the clinking of the metal chains once more and a loud voice booming through the kitchen.

"'Sup my bitches!" it greeted everyone and Mitch twisted his head to see a tall man cockily sauntering in like he owned the place. He looked to be the same age as him, although he couldn't have looked any more different. Wavy blond hair, scruffy beard, broad shoulders and a tattoo sleeve. It was true Mitch had a sleeve too, but he had been brought up to cover it up while at a place of work. Clearly this guy didn't have the same set of standards he did, with his shorts and sleeveless shirt.

The others seemed very pleased to see him though, the multiple greetings of "Eyy! Scotty!" and the complicated hand shake thing that Mitch thought only rappers did was proof that this "Scotty" was very popular here.

"Took your sweet time today dude!" Avi exclaimed, having to practically jump up to hang his arm around the blond man's shoulders. The man laughed and gave his colleague a shove off him, careful it wasn't in the direction of any cookers or knives.

"Had to take the fox for a check up of his leg," he explained himself. "I told you last week man I'd be running late!" he said, giving Avi's head another shove when the man tried to tackle him.

Mitch turned back to his chicken.  _Are they done yet?_  White meant they were done right? But what if they were still pink on the inside? He left them some more just to be safe while keeping a trained ear on the commotion behind him.

"Oh yeah, how's the little guy doing?" Kevin asked,  _about a fox?_  Did this guy have a pet fox in place of a normal dog?  _He certainly looks crazy enough._

"Well put it this way. His leg works well enough enough to be able to kick a soccer ball into my coffee this morning."

He heard the three men laugh and Kevin saying, "We have to arrange another day out soon brother, wha' d'you say? You, me, Avi and the fox!"

_Sounds like the worst Dr Seuss book ever._

"What about me?" Another voice called out from across the kitchen.

"Ugh..." the sound of Scott's pretend groaning earned him an enraged reaction from the other.

"Oh fuck off!"

"Aww no!" Mitch felt a gust of wind as the blond ran past him a barrelled into the other chef. "I love you Mario!" he whined, wrapping the man in a large bear hug. "I love you, I love you, I love" he declared, planting multiple kisses on the guy's cheek.

"Get off my you fool!" Mario screeched, but he was laughing along with the other staff.

 _This is what I have to work with_? Mitch had never seen people act so unprofessional in the work place.

"Scott!" A stern voice finally reprimanded the man for his behaviour. It was not the first time Mitch had heard the executive chef shouting today but it still startled him every time.

"Yes chef!" The blond stood to attention, cutting out his impromptu love making session immediately.

"There a reason you're in here dressed like that?" the moustached man growled, referring to Scott's lack of uniform.

"No chef! Sorry chef!" the man barked out and quickly made his way to the staff room, rudely knocking past Mitch once more.

 _What's his job then?_  Mitch wondered.  _Probably a dishwasher_ , he decided.

To his horror, his question was soon answered when Scott returned five minutes later, fully decked out in a uniform the same as Avi's and began giving out his own directions to the other line cooks and tasting the food.

 _Seriously? This guy is a sous chef?_  How on earth had this idiot been able to work his way up to that job role?

After skipping between the different work stations, writing stuff in his notebook and getting his hands a bit dirty himself, he finally set his sights on Mitch, who had started on his second batch of chicken pieces.

"What's this then?" he asked, sidling up to Mitch with a wry smile on his face "New meat?" Unlike Kevin and Avi this guy wasn't all immediate friendliness and beaming smiles straight away, more just regarding him with cordial gaze, awaiting his reply.

Mitch didn't give him much. "My first day here," he stoically replied.

The blond leant against the work top and nodded a few times. "I'm Scott," he said, as he turned his head to Mitch, looking almost vacant.

"So I heard," Mitch said, once again keeping his answers as brief as possible. He really didn't want this guy around but he supposed technically this guy, along with Avi, were his superiors.  _Jeez, I really don't want to be sucking up to a guy who keeps a fox for a pet._

"You enjoyed the show?" Scott asked, peering down at the chicken Mitch was still slaving over.

"Well it wasn't entertaining," Mitch shot back, "or clever or funny so no." He flitted his eyes to the right to see the blond man still looking down at his chicken. He wondered if he was going to be met with some sort of rebuke but after a few more moments of staring Scott just glanced back up at him.

"You've overcooked it," he told him, gesturing to the shrivelled chicken pieces. "Do them again."

And with that he stood back up straight again and walked off, calling out to Kevin about getting some tickets to a Chargers game. Mitch had no idea if that was football, baseball, basketball or whatever. He didn't care.

Planting a sardonic smile on his face directed at the blond man's back, he quietly muttered "asshole," before stealthily swiping the chicken pieces into the trash and getting some fresh ones.


	4. Should I Stay Or Should I Go

"C'mon man, do your buddy a favour!"

Mitch was currently trying his very best - as he had been doing all day really - to ignore the incessant chatter emitting from the rest of the kitchen. It was quarter past ten and the restaurant had finally stopped serving food, meaning all that was left for the kitchen staff was to tidy up and by staff, that apparently meant Mitch and the eighteen year old kitchen porter, Lacey.

For the past ten minutes Avi had been pestering Scott, bouncing around him like a hyperactive puppy, and demanding him to give him some girl's number and to be quite frank, it was doing Mitch's head in.

"I told you," the blond moaned for the umpteenth time, clearly getting tired with his friend's demands as well. "She's been seeing someone," he told him again.

For Mitch, that line would have made him give up on pursuit of anyone. Not that he would be pursing any "she's" anytime soon. This didn't mean the same for Avi apparently.

" _Been_  seeing someone," the man emphasised, "aka not in a serious relationship, aka Avi has all the chance in the world!" He beamed.

"Aka Avi is not Kirstie's kind of guy," Scott shot back.

Avi's smile only dropped slightly. "How d'you know?"

"She has standards." The blond poked Avi in the chest. "She wants to go up in the world, not down," he mocked him.

 _Haha, yeah...that's the one thing I can agree on._  After less than a full day's work in a kitchen restaurant, Mitch could fully well understand why the majority of the staff had gone mad. The heat, the noise, the pressure, it was almost unbearable and he had mainly been on chicken and corn duty the whole day. Mitch supposed if you enjoyed working with your colleagues it could make the experience better but was still in no rush to ingratiate himself with that rabble.

He definitely didn't envy Cesar's job, who somehow had to maintain control with the three musketeers constantly messing about with each other. In summary, today they had put a metal skewer through a baguette so the wait staff were unable to cut it up, put whipped cream in the ear piece of the kitchen phone so the next person to answer it was made a fool of for their personal enjoyment, and put various items of each other's clothing in the freezers; not to mention their constant dumb talk about getting drunk, getting high, getting into trouble with the cops and getting into bed with strangers.

 _Well good for you that you smoked weed and broke three laws in one night,_  he grumbled to himself. _I don't want to hear about it._

"I'm only asking for her number dude." And Avi was still begging Scott for this Kirstie's number. Who was she anyway? Not that I care, but she must have to be someone pretty special for Avi to be fawning over her so much.  _Or maybe she's just pretty and he's just trying to get in her bed._

"She'll never forgive me!" Scott exclaimed. "Remember I have to stay on her good side, she's kind of someone I have to impress."

"I thought it was her boss you have to impress?" Kevin added his input.

"I have to impress that whole entity," Scott insisted, waving his hand about in a circular motion, "as a whole."

 _Huh, that's a bit interesting._  Mitch wondered what sort of entity Scott could be referring to. Maybe this Kirstie worked at somewhere the blond was looking to work also. Or perhaps she was a family member of someone he was currently courting.  _Or maybe she's a member of a gang he gets drugs from._  Any one of those theories was a possibility. Mitch was betting on the angry drug dealer so far.

"I won't tell Scotty," Avi whined like a little kid, holding his head in his hands as he leaned on a worktop. "C'mon I've known you for what, ten years?"

"Eight years," Scott corrected him.

"Whatever," Avi dismissed, unconcerned about his horrendous math skills. "Since you were the same height as me anyway," he reminded the other man.

Mitch racked his brain for anyone he'd been friends with for eight years and came up seven years short. He'd kept himself to himself in college and any friends he thought he'd had when he started work had abandoned him pretty quickly after his - for want of a better word - firing.

These guys weren't just work colleagues then. They must be old school buddies unless they were older than Mitch judged them to be and just had an extremely effective skin care regime. Not really much surprise there.  _These guys were born here, grew up here, work here and they'll most likely die here in twenty or thirty years, from alcohol poisoning...or stabbing each other with kitchen knives._  Mitch failed to see the irony in comparing what he assumed these guys situations were to his old life in New York city. As far as he was concerned, they were practically a different species to him.

"I'm not gonna get you in trouble." The guy was just not letting up and Mitch began to consider smashing something on purpose just to get him to move on from his hopeless case.

Scott laughed. "The moment she smells you, she'll know you're my friend," he joked, aiming a kitchen towel at the other man's head.

While a mini war broke out between the two sous chef's Mitch took the opportunity to assess his own smell. Sweat. He could definitely smell sweat. But amongst that he also smelt of... _Mestizo's?_  It was as if all the smells from the kitchen had somehow seeped into his clothes, skin and even hair throughout the day.  _I am disgusting_ , he decided, thoroughly repulsed. A long shower was definitely required when he got home, providing that hadn't broken as well.

"You're going to need to shower at least three times before it leaves you." He looked up to see Scott regarding him smelling himself, with that wry smile on his face again. The blond gestured to the state of Mitch's shirt and pants. "Especially with the amount of mess you're making," he teased him. Mitch did not take it well, narrowing his eyes at the cocky man.

"I've done everything that was asked of me," he replied tersely.

"Poorly," Scott cut him down, "and twice as long as Lacey would have taken." Everyone laughed and Mitch's cheeks turned an unhealthy shade of red. He really wanted to shout at this guy, to put him in his place, but as much as he hated to admit it he seriously wasn't in any position to do so. Allowing the rest of the restaurant staff to have a little giggle at the newbie's expense, the blond turned back to Mitch with a softer smile. "But I guess you could've had worst first shifts," he finished.

Mitch blinked.  _Was that a compliment?_  No. It definitely wasn't a compliment, he decided. But at least it wasn't another ridicule.

Kevin came over and took the wash cloth from Mitch's hand, throwing it at the others and placing a friendly arm around his shoulders. "I guess you didn't have to shuck any corn much in whatever business you were conducting before," he said, giving him a grin.

"Not really," Mitch mumbled, put off by the change in attitude towards him. He didn't know if this was even more uncomfortable than them avoiding him. Now there was  _too much_  attention coming his way.

"Yeah," Avi put in, forgetting about this Kirstie for a moment. "Apart from the whole chicken fiasco, for a guy from advertising, you're not that bad– Scotty what the hell is that on your head?" His voice morphed into one of absolute astonishment as he stared open mouthed at his friend, before bursting out laughing.

Mitch turned too and saw that everyone was being greatly amused by Scott as he reappeared from taking a brief trip to front of house.

"I have no idea but one of the waiters - Little Tom - found it," proudly displaying a brightly coloured baseball cap which had a blond plait attached to it. He looked like an idiot. While the others cracked up at the sight of him, Scott took his phone out and began taking selfies. "If any customer comes looking for it, none of us saw anything," he instructed everyone.

"You look..." Avi shook his head as the blond jokingly pouted into his camera, "beautiful."

Scott grinned cheekily at him. "I do!" he agreed and began strutting his stuff around the kitchen like he was some kind of promiscuous model.

"Oh I am definitely snap-chatting this!" Kevin exclaimed.

As Mitch watched unamused while they all took turns in trying on the hat he thought again about how different these people were to him. This sort of behaviour was reserved for the weekend nights on the town, it had no place here.

_They're all just childish imbeciles._

At least he wasn't the only guy who looked unimpressed by the antics. One of the line cooks, a Mexican man in the corner - who had a name Mitch hadn't cared to remember - was much more busy on frowning down at his phone screen.

Scott had noticed too and bounded over to the man. "Hey Carlos!" he messed up the young man's curly hair. "No hitting up women till shifts officially ended," he joked.

The young man - Carlos he had now learned,  _I'm gonna forget that again by tomorrow_  - shook his head in earnest. "I'm not I'm– give it back here!"

"Avi," Scott lightly chastised the bearded man after he snatched the phone. "You're meant to be setting an example."

"Hey, if you're not willing to help me find a girl, I have to take matters into my own hands." Avi shrugged with a mischievous smirk. "A guy has needs y'know. What the–" he cut off, pulling a confused face at the screen.

Kevin, who had been peering over his shoulder, also looked puzzled. "Since when are you reading about politics?" he asked Carlos incredulously.

"Because," the man snapped, grabbing back his phone, "some hard working citizens actually care about the future of this country." He turned to the blond man beside him. "Y'know me Scotty. I am not a violent man, but if someone put me near this guy and gave me a taser...I would have a lot of fun." He followed that statement with a dark smirk but Scott just gave him a fond look, taking a look at the news story for himself.

"Ah," he drawled. "Old Humpty Trumpy been at it again?"

Kevin scoffed. "Don't act like you have a clue about what's going on! I bet you never even watch the news!"

_I agree with that sentiment._

"I know enough!" Scott defended himself, handing the phone back to Carlos with a grin. "Humpty Trumpy wants a great wall. Humpty Trumpy wants Mexico to pay for it all," he sang out, doing a little dance. "Well sure Mr Trump, Carlos here will do just that, but there's no guessing which side he'll be on when it's done!" That got a laugh of the young man. "Our foods just too good here," Scott added, which lead into a whole argument about food amongst the staff.

After a while Scott went from making jokes about Carlos' apparent love of American food to doing full on impersonations of the Mexican man talking about his diet that left Mitch in shock.

 _Um, isn't there some kind of unspoken law that says you can't do that?_  he thought, as he listened to the accent the blond man was putting on. To be fair it was a very good impression but Mitch had always believed that doing that in front of someone of that ethnicity would land you in huge trouble, however all the others, including Carlos, seemed to find it hilarious.

It didn't stop there either as Scott moved on to picking on the remaining line chef, a Jamaican man who had been quoting old gangster movies all day.

"I dunno what you're laughing about Reggie. You're idea of a diet is a joint in each hand!"

 _Okay how has this guy not been beaten up already? How is it that I feel like the whitest person here?_  He wondered in bewilderment as Scott moved onto impersonating the Jamaican man getting high before everyone else started making jokes about each others races. He certainly had no idea how to act in this environment and wished Kevin hadn't chucked away his wash cloth so he could carry on wiping the surfaces down.

"Ey, it's your turn Mitch." Mitch looked up horrified as Avi called him out.

"I uh," he felt his mouth go dry.

"Yeah, c'mon Mitch!" Kevin shouted. "Hit us with your best!"

"I don't really–"

"C'mon," Scott interrupted him. "That's an order," he said with a cheeky smirk. Mitch glared at him.  _I seriously hate you._

"Okay um," Mitch paused as he tried to rack his brains for a joke that would make these guys laugh. He didn't think the old Christmas cracker puns would do it for them, they appeared to enjoy the more racially offensive kind, and Mitch was thankful to say he didn't know any of those. Oh...there was one. One he remembered a guy in college had told people in freshman year that had gotten a big laugh at the time.

Clearing his throat he said, "What's the most confusing day in the ghetto?" With no one providing an answer he announced the punchline: "Father's day."

There was silence. They all just looked at him astounded, like he was some sort of alien, until a guy who's main job had been as butcher - and who Mitch supposed could be considered as the "most ghetto" out of the lot of them if you were to go by stereotypes - stepped towards him.

"You got some beef with me or something youngin'?" he questioned, not looking very friendly at all.

"Was that a joke?" Avi asked, dumbfounded.

Mitch squirmed under their scrutinisation. "It's uh, just one I heard from college," he said quietly.

"Oh, so you a college boy, huh?" the other guy was even closer to him now and Mitch could sense he was mad. _Oh great, I'm gonna get knifed on my first day. That's gonna go down well with my dad._

"Guys," he heard Scott trying to calm the situation.

"This punk thinks he's got a smart mouth," the guy was right in front of him now, practically snarling.

Mitch gulped. "I didn't mean any–"

"Leave him Danny, he ain't worth it," the blond suddenly appeared by their side, placing a gentle hand on the other guy's arm. "Alright, kid ain't racist, just stupid. That college degree can't have taught him much," he spoke quietly, making direct eye contact with the offended guy.

Mitch could see Danny calming down just by having Scott's presence nearby. The blond man placed his hands on the sides of the other guy's head, forcing him to ignore Mitch, and grinned into his face.

"Y'know you're momma's gonna love it when you tell her you get to boss a college educated kid around now, that's gonna make her laugh, ain't it?"

"Yeah," Danny breathed out slowly, the shadow of a smile crossing his lips. That was all Scott needed.

"Hey," he cried out, "there's that famous Danny smile! And a one, two, three, four!" He turned the man back around to the other's, making a few wild gestures with his arms, and Mitch watched in surprise as everyone started with up chant. "Oh Danny boy smile! Oh Danny boy smile!" they all sang, slapping their hands down on the kitchen work surfaces. "There's no one in the world who matches Danny boy's smile!" It sounded like a kind of drinking song and Scott kicked off a second round, "And again boys and girls!"

Scott lead Danny back into the frenzy, who had now forgotten his earlier annoyance with Mitch and was beaming away while his name was being chanted, a full set of golden capped teeth shining under the bright white lights.

Mitch hadn't realised he'd been holding his breath until he inhaled a massive gulp of air. Well that had been shit scary. Across the kitchen he caught Scott's gaze and the blond man gave him a small nod. Mitch didn't return it.  _Am I meant to be grateful or something?_  Whilst he could appreciate the fact that the man had prevented him from getting his face punched in, it was him in the first place who had  _ordered him_  to tell a joke. Mitch had never come in claiming to be a comedian so he didn't know what they had been expecting. And why was his joke any worse than the impressions this guy had been doing?

Mitch was about to build up the courage to mouth a "fuck you" at the blond when he was fortunately stopped by a stern voice booming through the room.

"Scott!" Cesar was stood in the doorway with an unreadable expression on his face. "A word," he beckoned to the young man sternly and immediately the blond was all serious, walking over like he was being called to the principal's office. "The rest of you," Cesar announced, "clear off."

No one needed that saying to them twice and they all started shouting out goodbyes to Scott, filing out of the kitchen to go and collect their stuff, some waiting to change back into their normal clothes while others were undoubtedly shaking hands or hugging, choosing to go home as soon as possible.

Mitch didn't follow and nobody said anything to him. It was like he was invisible to them. But he didn't care, right? _I didn't come here to make friends, I just need the money._  And besides, this was only his first day and it had not been going terribly until he had managed to offend everyone. He was still not quite sure why his joke got shot down while all the rest were apparently fine.  _They probably just did it on purpose, like some sort of initiation._  He wasn't sure if he had passed or not.

He waited a few minutes in the empty kitchen; it almost seemed peaceful now it was just him, hard to imagine the chaos it had seen today.  _No one can say I didn't do a good job at cleaning up._  Only when he could be sure everyone would had gone did he tiredly stumble out, switching the lights out on his way.


	5. Twice

Feeling better now he was back in his own clothes, but still not entirely comfortable because of the restaurant smell that was now following him around, Mitch stood by the bus stop waiting for his transport home.

It was still hot even at this late hour, but nowhere near as bad as earlier. He hoped with all his heart that this day really had been a rare one off; weather wise and work day wise. In fact he would happily erase today completely and come in again tomorrow with a breeze in the air and a better idea of the people he would be working with.

 _C'mon hurry up._  Unlike the densely populated streets of Manhattan, and New York as a whole, San Diego had no need for a form of public transport around every corner, available at a beckoning whistle. His bus wasn't scheduled to arrive for another twenty minutes, not what he needed when all he wanted to do was go to bed.

Not to mention the fact it was extremely dark, with only one street light behind him until another one a good twenty feet away, and Mitch had no idea how safe this area was. There could be a pick pocket or an axe murderer hiding in the bush across the road, just waiting for him to drop his guard so they could pounce.

Mitch knew that was all childish talk but he had never dealt well with tiredness, and also he had never worked such long hours in his life. _And I have to start at the normal time tomorrow_ , he suddenly realised with horror. A normal shift started a nine o'clock. He'd had a two hour lie in today!

In the distant, Mitch could hear the harsh sound of an engine coming from up the road, the direction he had walked from.  _Maybe there's a chainsaw murderer roaming about._  If he did get killed he hoped his body would be hidden out of sight so he wouldn't be found straight away, and people didn't get a smell of his Mestizo's infested body.

In the darkness the noise was getting louder and it was incoming at quite a fast pace. It was clearly the noise of a motorcycle and not a chainsaw he was hearing, and the perpetrator appeared less than a minute later, much to Mitch's dismay.

 _Oh it would be you, wouldn't it?_  Mitch glared as the blond man zoomed past on the narrow, winding road, with no form of safety bar a black motorcycle helmet. Even though he couldn't see Scott's eyes under the visor he took small blessings in the fact he was pretty sure the guy hadn't seen him.

Apparently he was wrong as the bike made a u-turn by the next street light and drove back up to towards the bus stop.

 _No, no, no! Please just give me a break!_  Mitch didn't even bother to hide his moody face as the blond pulled up in front of him and removed his helmet. He had taken the time also to change back into the clothes he had arrived in but somehow he managed to look so much more collected than Mitch, most likely because of the breeze he would feel from the riding a motorcycle, yet the younger man still thought it was unfair.

Sorting his hair out he gave Mitch a grin as he kicked the stabilisers down and hopped off. "You must've just moved here," he guessed. "Waiting for the bus? Only old ladies and under sixteens take the bus."

"Yeah...haven't had time to buy a car yet," Mitch lied. It would be a while before he could afford a car he wouldn't be ashamed to be seen in.

Scott nodded, seemingly believing Mitch's story for now. "Where 'bouts you sleeping then?"

"Um,"  _why can't you just leave?_  "near Colina del Sol park, that area..." Mitch didn't want to be too specific. He didn't trust Scott enough to know he wouldn't rally up his little buddies and come and vandalise his apartment for offending one of them. His new home was bad enough without having eggs or paint chucked over it.

"Huh, you're not too far from me then, Balboa Park, I can show you around one day if you like?" The tall man offered. "I know the area well."

"Maybe," Mitch said slowly, which translated as  _hell no_.

This time Scott did seem to see through his lie, giving him a strange kind of knowing smile, but he didn't say anything about it, instead just leaning back against his Suzuki and looking at Mitch.

"So, how d'you think your first day went?"

Mitch stared at him like he was crazy. "You are kidding right?"

"I was busy!" The man retorted in his defence, shrugging. "Couldn't keep an eye on you the whole time, could I?"  _No, because you were more busy hiding Avi's shoes in the freezer._  He answered the question surprisingly honest though.

"I've had better first days," he admitted.

The blond wanted more than that. "Good's, bad's?" he queried. "How's the culinary business compare to that of advertising?"

He could tell Scott was only trying to be friendly but Mitch had had enough of talking by now, and replied tersely, "A lot different."  _Well technically that's not a lie._  You hardly got into advertising and cooking from the same college degree. 

Scott was quiet, still regarding him with a friendly enough expression. When he realised that was actually all Mitch had to say he sighed and scratched a hand through his hair. "You don't say a lot, do you?" he observed.

 _I'm just tired and grumpy and I stink, I really don't want to talk to anyone right now._  Those were Mitch's exact thoughts and no matter how strange they might have sounded if he said them out loud, it might have been a more sensible reply than what he actually said.

"Well I've never worried I'd end up in hospital until today," he muttered instead.

Scott tilted his head in question, "Why? The heat get to you or something?" He looked slightly less than vaguely concerned.

"No." As it became clear the other man still wasn't going to leave him alone Mitch gave up with trying to be polite and blurted, "Alright, I'll come out with it." He folded his arms across his chest, ready for the argument he was undoubtedly going to be having. "It is a safety risk to have someone like  _him_  around."

It took a good ten seconds for the coin to drop but when it did Mitch could see Scott's expression change from friendly to utter confusion.

"You mean Danny?" he asked in astonishment. At Mitch's silence he let out a small laugh, mainly from the shock, and shook his head adamantly. "Danny's a sweetheart, wouldn't harm a fly," he insisted.

Mitch raised his eyebrows, arms still firmly crossed. " _Really_?" In his mind there was no defending the guy who had scared the shit out of him today.

Scott took a few steps towards him, and Mitch instinctively took a few steps back. If this guy wanted to he could probably easily punch few of his teeth out in one swipe. Noticing his approach was not welcomed, the blond held up his hands submissively but didn't move back. "He's a tough kid, been through a lot in his life, worked hard to get where he is today," he told the younger man, a wistful glint in his blue eyes. "And fathers is a sore topic for him," he added, giving Mitch a meaningful look.

The other man was all out of words for now, instead choosing to focus on his shoes and wishing the bus to arrive.

He heard the blond let out another sigh. "I shouldn't be telling you this, it's none of your business, but his mom's sick, had a stroke a couple of months back," Scott informed him quietly. "She's the only family he got and most of his wages are going on her rehab." His voice was low, but not angry, just patient. "So you'll forgive him if he gets a little short tempered now and then."

Mitch finally lifted his head back up and saw that Scott wasn't even focused on him, his gaze instead directed at the bright city lights, in the valley below them.

He did feel regret now, for that joke.  _I can't blame him for getting mad at me when he's going through that._  No matter how much he and his dad weren't on speaking terms right now, the thought of the old man leaving him, leaving him alone in the world, was one that frightened him greatly. Mitch knew; he knew that people you loved could be taken at the click of a finger, or the pull of a trigger.

"But as far as him hurting you?" Scott continued, speaking while still looking at the lights. "The biggest injury he's probably inflicted upon anyone would have been from hugging them too hard."

Even Mitch had to smile at the thought of that and the blond turned back to him with a soft expression. One that made him look like a completely different man to the cocky guy he had first met.

"And if you're wondering why no one laughed then you're dumber than we gave you credit for."

 _Oh no, there he was again._  Mitch returned to viewing the man as annoyingly forward and blunt as Scott grinned at him.

"Excuse me?" he asked, his voice pitching higher than he intended to, so it came out squeaky.

"Making a joke like that? With the people you now work with?" Scott rolled his eyes. "C'mon Mitch you weren't born yesterday."

" _What_? But that was all _you lot_  were doing!" Mitch complained. "You," he waved an accusing finger at the tall man, "you were definitely not being politically correct with your Mexican and Jamaican impressions, but noooo," he extended that last word for a lot longer than was necessary, waving his hands about. He probably looked crazy. He didn't care. "No, we're all just gonna laugh at those like they're perfectly fine," he marched towards the other man now, forgetting about his earlier worries and still raging: "because you get special treatment for some reason beyond me!"

Scott blinked. "Wow," he said, still infuriatingly smirking at Mitch.

 _I give up._  "Leave me alone," Mitch said with a huff, stalking back to his original spot.

He kicked out angrily at a leaf on the floor and heard Scott giving a nearby can the same treatment, sending it skittering across the road. "Y'know as your superior I do have a duty to make sure you aren't feeling alienated in the working environment," Scott spoke up, like he was reading from a HR manual.

 _Too little, too late_ , Mitch thought. He knew this guy didn't give a damn about him or his feelings. People he'd known for a year apparently didn't, so someone who'd only known him a day definitely had no reason to be concerned about how he felt in the "working environment". "Save the crap for someone who cares," he snapped.

"Fair enough," Scott replied, with that same easy going manner. He picked up his motorcycle helmet and Mitch breathed a sigh of relief as it seemed he was eventually going to be left in peace. The other man didn't put it on though, having second thoughts as he just turned it about in his hands.

"Y'know people weren't laughing at me because I was making fun of other races," he spoke again so quietly that Mitch had to strain to hear him. "They found it funny that I was doing impressions - and admit it they were good," he raised his voice, daring Mitch to argue with him on that fact. "Anyway they found it funny that I was doing impressions of my  _friends_ ," he continued once Mitch put up no fight, "who just happen to be Mexican or Jamaican."

The blond went back to kicking at another can, knocking it back and forth between his feet before sending it sailing into the bush behind him. Mitch watched, and then slowly he began to realise the mistake he had made earlier. Scott was right,  _he had_  been doing specific impressions, not general stereotypical ones. Mitch had just been too caught up in the shock of hearing people tease each other like that, that he had immediately jumped to the conclusion that all the staff enjoyed racist or demeaning jokes.

 _And that's why my ghetto joke didn't go down very well. Why couldn't I just tell a knock-knock one?_  He'd just wanted to fit in, that's why. No matter how much he tried to kid himself, he didn't enter his new job looking to make enemies. He wasn't a sociopath.

"I've been friends with some of these guys for years," Scott added at that point, and given the thoughts Mitch had just been having, it felt like the blond was rubbing it in. "D'you really think I'd make fun of them for where they came from or what ethnicity they are?"

"I never volunteered to tell a joke," Mitch defended himself. He would've been happy to stay quiet in the corner.

"No, you didn't." Scott gave him a small apology. "Sorry," he shrugged, "I forget sometimes that not everyone is as forward as me and my boys."

Mitch sniffed. "At least you admit it," he muttered.

"Let's say it was a misjudgement on both our parts," the blond replied, sharing the blame between both of them, which Mitch still saw as hardly fair but was now too tired to bother arguing back.

"Mmm," was about as much of an answer he could conjure up. The way Scott was still able to find energy to now start bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet seemed like a minor miracle to him.

"Go home, put your feet up," the man said while still going up and down like Tigger. "Have a shower and come in fresh faced tomorrow morning. Y'know the saying: twice is a charm." _I'm pretty sure it's three times_ , Mitch thought but didn't concern himself to correct him on that.

"Things always seem better the next day." Scott continued and Mitch had to briefly look away because the man's constant movement along with the heat was beginning to make him feel dizzy. "I'll be a bit late again but if any of the guys get too hard on you, tell them Scott says they won't be invited over for games night if they don't play fair," the other man instructed.

"How come you get a lie in?" Mitch asked with jealousy. What did this guy have on Cesar that allowed him to get away with turning up late two days in a row?

Scott stopped moving then, finally still, a faraway expression coming across his features. "I haven't been allowed a lie in for about four years," he practically whispered, letting out a small chuckle afterwards. "Gotta take someone for a...fitting...kind of," he ambiguously revealed. "I'm just glad Kirstie insisted I got health insurance. She's worth having around no matter how much stress she can put me under."

Mitch shook his head, his eyes wide, looking at Scott like he was crazy. "You do realise I have no idea what you're talking about," he told him.

The man just smiled wryly at him again. "I know," he simply said, running his hand over the red paint of his motorcycle as if he were stroking a prized horse. "Listen, I know you don't really know me but...with you being new round here and all, I feel obliged to offer you a lift," he offered out of the blue. "And 'sides, you're a little guy, should fit on perfectly," he teased.

Mitch regarded the black and red Suzuki, dirty but looking sturdy enough, and although he had never been on one before he could bet his right arm it was a more comfortable and certainly quicker way home than the bus he was still waiting for. However, tempting as the offer might be, there was no way he was going anywhere with this guy tonight.

_I don't know a thing about you._

"Look don't worry, I've only ever had a near miss once with a moose," Scott joked, or at least Mitch was hoping he was. "Other than that," he held up his hands, "clean record."

Mitch stared at the man and the bike some more, and shook his head firmly. The last thing he wanted was this guy seeing the sort of apartment he was living in. He could still keep up the pretence that he was doing alright for himself.

"No thanks, I'm a big boy, I don't need a guide," he answered in a monotone voice, hoping Scott wouldn't press him any more.

The taller man studied him for a bit, and Mitch felt a bit uncomfortable, being watched like he was an exhibit in a museum. "Alright," the blond eventually nodded his head a few times, "alright that's cool." He finally shoved the motorcycle helmet back over his head. "See ya round, Mitchy," he said, although his voice was now muffled, before he flipped the visor down, covering up his face again.

Mitch stood back as he watched Scott hop back onto the bike, kick the stabilisers up, and zoom off, leaving just a cloud of dust behind him. He glared at the man as he disappeared round a corner, dodging the multiple pot-holes.

 _It's Mitch_ , he mentally called out after him.

As it happened, the bus turned up less than two minutes later; his conversation with Scott had gone on for longer than he realised.  _At least he made the time pass_ , were the only compliments he could think to hand to the man. Then again, he had helped Mitch realise a few things about the guys he was working with.  _Maybe we're not as different as I first assumed_. After all, no person could be seen completely by just looking at their surface.

 _Yeah_ , he thought, settling down into a seat near the back.  _Twice can be a charm. Tomorrow might be a completely different day._

_Well...it can't really go much worse anyway._


	6. Golden Brown

Mitch eventually arrived back at half eleven, stepping off the empty bus and walking the short distance to his apartment block. He'd rented the third and top floor apartment that gave him a great view of the tiny pool on one side, that was in desperate need of a good scrubbing, and on the other side three large dumpsters which were filled with stained mattresses and rotting Chinese food.

It was relatively quiet compared to the previous night when there had been a number of youths dive bombing from the roof opposite him into the pool and playing very loud house music. Hopefully it was going to remain that way and Mitch was going to be able to get to sleep quickly; the thought of having to leave again in nine hours made in groan out loud as he reached the metal stairs.

In reply to his noise of complaint he suddenly heard a tiny little mew echo from the behind his neighbours trash can. Delaying his tiresome journey up the stairs some more, Mitch crouched down and held out his hand, trying to make himself look as non-threatening as possible.

"Hey boy," he cooed to the tiny hairless cat. "C'mon out, I'm not gonna hurt you." He rubbed his fingers together to try and attract the little guy over. After peering at him with big eyes for a few seconds, the cat let out another little mew and ran happily out to greet Mitch.

Mitch smiled widely as the hairless creature rubbed it's head against his legs, purring loudly. He'd never owned a pet growing up but could understand why people kept them around; they could be remarkably therapeutic during times of stress.

"I wonder where you live," he spoke again to the cat. He had been sitting outside Mitch's kitchen window the previous night, begging to be let in just to escape the riot occurring outside by the pool, and after it became clear he wasn't going to leave or shut up any time soon, Mitch had eventually relented and allowed the cat to spend the night sleeping next to him on his bed.

When his alarm had awoken him in the morning, the cat was long gone, presumably having exited through the bathroom window to the nearby tree branch sometime during the night. He hadn't expected to see him again, but now here he was, meowing at him at the bottom of the stairs.

Standing back up, Mitch made his way up these stairs, feeling his joints aching like a man three times his age and watching in surprise as the little grey cat ran up ahead of him and sat waiting outside his front door.

 _Oh no. We are not getting into that habit_ , Mitch thought. Didn't this cat have his own home to go to? Getting out his keys, he paused and looked down to the cat again, who was watching him eagerly. Mitch could work out exactly what his plan was.

 _Oh well, what harm can one more night do?_  Maybe the little guy really was homeless, he didn't have a collar or anything, but then he didn't think most cats did and he didn't look underfed. Still, he was asking very politely to be allowed in and Mitch didn't want to offend anyone else today.

"Well I'm gonna need to give you a name if you're staying the night again." Calling it "you" wasn't going to cut it.

"What do you look like little one?" he asked the cat, who had began pawing at his door, in case his intentions weren't clear enough.

"Felix?" No, that would make him think of PewDiePie. "Shadow?" Nah...too common for an uncommon looking cat such as this one.

 _What would I have called my cat if I was allowed one as a kid?_  He remembered he always had a few in mind just incase his father actually bought him a kitten for Christmas.  _Yeah...there was Artemis if it was a girl...and Wyatt if it was a boy._

 _Yeah that'll do_ , he thought as he unlocked the door.  _Besides, he looks like a Wyatt_ , Mitch decided as the tiny thing scampered between his legs and trotted off into his living room with his tail held proudly in the air.  _Well at least one of us approves of this place._

Stepping through his front door he was immediately reminded just how bare his new home was. He had yet to unpack most of his belongings and there were cardboard boxes just piled up in every corner. Shoving the door shut as gently as he could so as not to damage it any more, he kicked off his shoes and made his way to the kitchen when all of a sudden his eyes were drawn to something truly horrible.

 _Oh God, the colour!_  Mitch couldn't believe he'd forgotten the worst feature of his apartment; the disgusting golden brown wallpaper that covered every room, making him feel like he was living in some sort of bee hive.

He just counted his blessings he wasn't ill because he would surely be throwing up every time he looked at a wall. As soon as he got some free time at the weekend that was all coming down and he would take great pleasure in it.

Grabbing some hot pockets out of the freezer, something that he found almost as embarrassing as having to get a bus to work, and turning his oven on to pre-heat it, he quickly splashed some cold water on his face to try and keep himself awake for now. Meanwhile, the newly named cat jumped up onto the table and began rolling around, bringing a small smile to the man's face.

Once the oven was hot enough he popped the two Philly Steak monstrosities in and hoped they wouldn't taste has bad as he expected them to. Really, he didn't want to be eating at this time at all but he was absolutely starving, having had nothing since breakfast that morning. Naively he had thought there would be time to get a decent meal during a work break. One problem there: he hadn't had a break.

Kevin had told him that most of the chef's stocked up on food during the morning, when there were fewer guests and taking breaks were more feasible, and also kept themselves going with small snacks throughout the day. However between five and nine - what might be the preferred times for taking a break in a working day as long as his - it was rare for any of them to stop. It wasn't that they weren't allowed, it was just they didn't want to get out of their rhythm that Mitch had yet to build up. Then they would just have a smaller meal on the way or at their homes, in order to get to bed as quickly as possible.

Mitch was definitely going to have to stock up on high energy food on his way in tomorrow, otherwise he could see himself falling headfirst, asleep into the frying pan. 

On the other hand, despite everything else, Mitch had definitely gained a new found respect for the people in the culinary world. People complaining about working a nine till five job seemed like nothing compared to the twelve, thirteen hour shifts these guys put in everyday. Some of the guys, including Scott and Avi, worked seven days a week as well, the restaurant still having need for it's more skilled staff when Mitch's role could be replaced by high school students, although it was only open for the evenings at the weekend.

While those delicious Hot Pockets were cooking, Mitch went through the arduous task of setting up his TV, heaving the black screen out of it's respective cardboard box and struggling with it to the small table in the corner of the living room. Settling himself down on the lumpy couch, he flicked through the channels before settling on a documentary on the band Queen. He wasn't the biggest fan but his choice had been rather limited at this time of day. There was no way he was going to watch Fox News.

He smiled again as Wyatt - he was really getting used to that - jumped up next to him and began kneading on Mitch's leg, making himself comfortable so he could settle down, and when his food was ready he ate it in record time and hopped up get in the shower so fast that he sent the cat flying to the floor.

Now lying in bed at half twelve, he shut his eyes, trying his best to get to sleep straight away. It didn't work though, his mind still active even though his body had broken down a long while back.

The young man wondered if his father had thought much about him since he left. He expected he had, probably in distaste and disappointment, and Mitch couldn't blame him if he had. Although he had shouted and raged at his father before he left, Mitch knew the man hadn't done anything wrong in firing him. He could barely keep someone around, even if that employee was his only son, when so many other's had lost their job over his mistake.

 _I would be ashamed to have me as a son too._  That was all he was ever going to be really, just a shadow in his father's image, never able to live up to the man himself. He had travelled across the whole country in some bitter attempt to make his own name for himself, only to realise he had no actual plan and that it was impossible to get another job in business when you had a track record like his.

If he were being honest, he would love to just pack up his things and head straight back home; do anything to get back into his father's good graces. He just wasn't cut out for this sort of...not very privileged life, no matter how tough and unaffected he had tried to act today, he was upset with himself and his situation. He missed his old home, his old job, even his old fake friends.

Just like Danny at work, what Mitch projected and what he actually felt were often two very different things.

Then again, if he was thinking about people not being just what you see on the surface, then there was one man above all the others who defined the meaning of a mystery for Mitch. When Scott had first entered extremely loudly today he had reminded Mitch a lot of the college frat boys who he had avoided as much as possible during his course. Obnoxious and dumb.

But over the course of that day it had become clear the blond knew what he was doing, and that he was well respected, able to sort out any issue quickly and calmly and keeping everyone in high spirits.

Mitch could almost forgive him for calling him out to tell that ill-fated joke. Almost.

There was also the matter of this Kirstie, someone who Mitch had been entirely uninterested in when Avi had been talking non-stop about her; but when Scott had started referring to her in a very ambiguous manner he had become curious. Who exactly was this girl?

He only had very few facts to go on so far. One: she was most likely very pretty, at least by Avi's standards, although that didn't exactly help him much. Two: she was someone Scott had to impress. Three: she was part of some bigger organisation or "entity" as Scott had called it. And four: she had apparently persuaded Scott to take out health insurance, something the blond was very grateful for.

 _Could she be a nurse? Has Scott got some unknown illness that is not visible just looking at him?  And wasn't there something about a fitting?_  As far as Mitch could tell, the other man was perfectly fit and healthy, if a little crazy in the head, but then all of them at Mestizo's were.

 _I'm going to need to hire a psychiatrist as soon as possible if I hope to stay sane,_  he thought wistfully.  _After I've fixed up the apartment. And bought a car._

Whatever happened, Mitch knew he was going to have to step up his game tomorrow, and this time he wasn't going to be afraid to stick up for himself when the others treated him unfairly. He guessed he had Scott to thank for giving him so ammunition to fight back, even if the idea of a games night amongst three grown men entertained him greatly.

He also tried to think up a few smart come backs of his own that would both impress and make his co-workers laugh, but before he could make up any, his mind had wandered too far, and he was asleep.


	7. Downtown

Mitch was headed downtown in the early afternoon. It was about half an hour bus journey to Little Italy and a short walk to Blick Art Materials where he desperately needed to buy some paint to cover up his horrendous walls. It was a nice area, if not slightly overwhelmed by too many pizza places and, unlike shopping in New York, he could actually move freely along the sidewalk without being jostled from every angle.

The rest of his week had gone slightly better than bad. He still felt like he was causing more work for the rest of the staff than helping them but no one ever got unreasonably annoyed with him. Ever since the first disastrous day, Mitch had actually managed to not offend anyone else during the week and had even begun to engage in friendly chat with a few of his colleagues, especially with Kevin, seeing as his work station was closest to his.

At times the man was too friendly for Mitch's liking - seeing as all the overly friendly people he had met in the past had an alternative motive - but he was able to have Mitch laughing even after the latter had been shucking corn for what felt like a good hour.

As for the rest of the staff, they were pretty much the same. Loud-mouthed, boisterous and hyperactive but incredibly competent and hard working all the same. He had actually seen another side to Avi besides hopeless romantic when someone had their meal sent back, causing the man to kick off at one of the line chef's for not degreasing a soup properly. Mitch had no idea what that meant but was glad it wasn't on his list of tasks.

And as for Scott, he was still as confusing as ever. One moment he would be rushing around very seriously making sure the party of twelve all got their food at the same time, the next moment he was performing a spoon juggling act with one of the front of house staff. Most days he would pay Mitch little to no attention, just shouting out to the others occasionally about planning nights out, but then on Thursday he had taken the time to teach Mitch how to caramelise sugar so he could make things like fancy sugar cages and baskets for the deserts. They had actually been quite fun to do and the other man had complicated his technique afterwards.

Today, the weather was almost perfect in Mitch's opinion, not too hot, but sunny with a nice breeze. It had put him in a good mood. Walking through the store doors, he was immediately approached by a boy, maybe about sixteen years old, who was in serious need of a hair wash and acne cream, and listened patiently while the kid spewed out the customer service jargon he was trained to. "Hi there Sir, how are you today?"

He sounded kind of like Chris from Family Guy. Mitch had been watching a lot of that show recently, it was one of the few decent programmes available on his TV when he got round to sitting down and putting his feet up.

"Good," Mitch gave the kid a tight smile, hoping that he would get the message that he preferred to be left alone when he was shopping.

No luck there unfortunately. "Uh...can I be of any assistance?" The kid was clearly repeating that for the fiftieth time today and due to his brighter mood Mitch decided that he would actually give him a challenge to see what he was really made of.

"Hmm maybe," he speculated. "Have you got any colors the opposite to golden brown?"

It quickly became apparent that this kid's brain was as absent as the expression on his face. "Uhh...we have some African Violet..." The boy mumbled and pointed dumbly to the paint aisle that Mitch could clearly see from where he was.

"Do I look like an eighty year old woman?" he sassed back in jest. It went right over this boy's head though, who just gawked at him, the response to that obviously not in the training manual. "Never mind," Mitch waved him off. "I'll find something myself."

It didn't take him long. He avoided all the bright colors and headed straight for the bland ones, quickly settling on a cream color that was apparently called Champagne, the naming of which had no influence on his decision of course. The hardest task was trying to lift the three incredibly heavy tins into his shopping cart, which involved a lot of cursing on his part and a lot of disobedience on the paints side.

After that mini workout, Mitch wondered why his stamina hadn't seemed to improve after a week's hard graft. It's what Kevin had been constantly telling him, that his body would soon begin to get used to running off little reserves. Well he'd just been defeated by three buckets of paint so he figured he had a while to go before he got to that standard.

Mitch had been pushing the cart to go and pay, when suddenly there was a hand grabbing hold of his shoulder and for a split second Mitch truly believed he was being mugged. That was until he realised most criminals wouldn't say, "I believe this is your's Mr Grassi," and hand over a wallet, Mitch's own wallet.

"Oh my–  _you_..." Mitch couldn't stop himself from giving Scott a light slap on the arm as he snatched his wallet back. "Don't sneak up on me like that!" He complained as the other man just jumped back and started laughing.

"Woah calm down Mitchy!" Scott said through more laughter, holding his hands up defensively. "Just trying to be a good samaritan is all. I thought you might need this to pay for that." He gestured to the now returned wallet and the tins of paint in Mitch's shopping cart.

Mitch huffed in reply. "Thanks," he muttered.  _Why on my day off do I happen to run straight into you?_

"No problem," Scott smiled brightly at him. "Enjoying your day off?" he questioned, following Mitch the moment the younger man began to walk away.

Accepting defeat that he was stuck with the man now and escape was impossible, Mitch admitted, "It was needed."

The blond smirked. "Yeah I can see that."

"What d'you mean?" the smaller man asked, frowning.  _What insult am I about to receive now?_

Fortunately, it turned out Scott was referring to a discussion he'd had at work rather than some embarrassing mistake he had made or his current appearance. "That chat you had with Kevin on Friday night..." he shook his head in amusement at the memory. "I swear you both sounded like you were high on something."  _You're saying this to a guy who's never once got high in his life._  Even so, Mitch was partially amused as Scott then went on to imitate the two of them, saying in a dopey voice: "Hey...do you...do you think chicken's have souls?"

I really did have that conversation didn't I? To be fair that had been right at the end of the shift and the two had been working at the grill the whole evening with an influx of chicken based meals coming in. After twelve hours of working in that kitchen, Mitch's mind tended to wander to places he had never thought possible before, including the topic of whether chicken's went to normal heaven or an exclusive chicken heaven.

He glanced at Scott who was still walking alongside him with a bounce in his step and a bright spark in his eyes. He was slightly envious. "I don't know how you do it everyday," he confessed.

The other man appeared quite delighted with that half compliment. "Practice my friend," Scott gave him a pat on the shoulder. "A hell of a lot of practice."

Mitch didn't doubt that. Along with Avi the guy was basically second in command. That was definitely some responsibility for two men their age. "You started when Avi did, right?" he clarified.

"Umm," Scott narrowed his eyes in thought, "a little after yeah," he mused.

"So you've been there since you were seventeen," Mitch deciphered. That was the age Avi had told him he started doing Mitch's current job.

The other man was taken aback however. "What? No!" Scott exclaimed. "He's two years older than me," he informed Mitch, before putting on a face of mock hurt. "I don't look that bad, do I?"

"No you..." Mitch hurriedly tried to correct his statement. "Sorry, I just assumed with you knowing each other for so long that you were old classmates or something."

Good-naturedly as always, Scott took no offence from Mitch's honest mistake. "Ha, I dropped out of school just after I turned fifteen." He said it as though it were no big deal, but Mitch instantly read it as  _I was kicked out_. Somehow he found that the more likely story to believe. Scott didn't elaborate any further on that part though. "That's why I needed to get this job, something else to keep me preoccupied. Avi was the guy who helped me get it," he continued. "Started off worse than you if you can believe it," he disclosed. 

"I can't actually," Mitch joked at his own expense, surprising himself.  _That's not like me_. Bigging himself like a peacock might spread it's tail feathers was his speciality.

"Believe me, we've had worse," Scott assured him. "You're not experienced, but you've got something Mitchy, a natural talent. You pick up things quickly," he remarked kindly before regaling Mitch with his own first job woes. "I started out as a dishwasher and smashed about ten plates within in the hour. Good thing the exec chef at the time had a soft spot for dumb kids, otherwise I'd have been kicked out in no time."

Mitch smiled at him; a real smile. "And now you're one of the top dogs," he noted. It was admirable, he had to admit. Scott was probably someone his father would like. Someone who had worked themselves up from the bottom rung at a young age and was earning a stable income at only twenty three. Not like Mitch who had been handed everything only to lose it all and start out at the very bottom at the age of twenty two.

Scott didn't make any show of his higher position at work. "Proves miracles really do come true." The man bounded ahead of him and spread his arms wide. "For my next trick, I'm gonna be walking on water!" he cried out, making Mitch look around nervously to check no one was watching and if they were, he was prepared to openly distancing himself from the blond as quickly as possible. He didn't want anyone else to think he was with this crazy. In work the guy might act like his boss but here, and that time by the bus stop, he joked around like Mitch was someone he had known for years.

Finding no water near enough to walk on, Scott returned to his side and moved like a normal human for a while as they neared the checkout counter. "So there's no guessing what you're planning to do with the rest of your day," the blond remarked, glancing down to the tins of paint again.

"Yeah...that reminds me, I've gotta call a cab, there's no way I'm carrying all this home," Mitch motioned to the three large tins that he had no chance of carrying the small distance from the bus stop to his apartment with his skinny arms.

"Hmm, a cab from here to where you live is gonna cost a lot," Scott told him, his face lightning up as an idea came to him. "How about I give you a lift?" he suggested enthusiastically. "I'm sure we've got some room in the top boxes for all that."

Mitch assumed he was joking. He didn't know much about motorcycles but he didn't think they were known for their carrying capacity. "You think you can fit all this on your motorcycle?" he queried in doubt.

The other man nodded his head vigorously, blond hair falling across his face. "Easy!" Scott proclaimed. "You're looking at the guy who's driven a motorcycle with a road bike strapped to it," he said proudly.

Mitch just gaped at him. "That sure doesn't fill me with much confidence," he stated, ignoring the man's wry smirk. "And I wouldn't want to put you out of your way. I'm sure you've got other stuff you'd rather be doing."

"Not at all," Scout countered. "I only came down here to pick up a carving set for Avi's birthday in a few weeks." The thought of Avi carving anything except meat amused Mitch greatly but the blond was being serious apparently as he pulled from his backpack a box labelled '21 Piece Carving Chest'.

"I would normally leave things like this last minute but then I tend to forget them completely, and well...Avi's too important to be forgetting about," Scott said softly. "Plus I am often forced to visit the little ice cream place around the corner whenever I get free time."

The younger man jumped on that out of panic that he was going to give in to the offer. "Like you say, it's your free time. You don't need to waste it helping me out with a bit of paint."

That had little effect on Scott however, who merely put an arm around Mitch's shoulder, telling him, "Hey, we're work buddies now. Work buddies help each other out outside of their jobs too," he sang out. "And helping someone out is never a waste of time." He said it like he was a boy scout.

Mitch met the pleading blue eyes and sighed in defeat.  _Oh why not? Who cares if he see's where I live._ Mitch imagined if he didn't show him today, the blond would end up stalking him one day purely out of curiosity.

"If you really don't mind, it would be nice," he accepted. "I'm not exactly rolling in cash."

"No, you're like me; you smell like you've been rolling in taco sauce." They both laughed at that, mainly because it wasn't too far from the truth. It felt good to laugh properly and it was a pleasure he had rarely allowed himself, even before he had fled across the country. Laughs were usually a tool to use as a way to charm clients.

Nevertheless, he still felt a bit self conscious when Scott stared at him for a prolonged amount of time afterwards with a strange look in his eyes, before he stopped by the line for the checkout and told him: "Listen, I've gotta go and check up on something outside, but tell the guy, Ryan, at the counter that Scott's got his girl parked up outside and he's to load that up for you." Upon seeing Mitch visibly blanch at the thought of saying that to the employee he reassured, "Don't worry he owes me for a lot of favors."

Mitch shook his head in wonder. "Do you know everyone in this city?" he asked Scott.

'I try to," the man responded. "Always good to have an alibi to hand if you need one,"

"I never know if you're joking or not."

Scott just laughed again. "I'll be waiting for you outside."

Mitch watched him leave. "Thank you!" he called out to his turned back. Scott didn't say anything in return but held up both arms, giving him a double thumbs up. As it turned out, just mentioning Scott's name earned him a pleasant smile, small talk and an "of course I'll see to that as soon as possible Mitch", from Ryan at the checkout, who told him he had a few more customers to serve first.

Heading outside Mitch couldn't spot the tall blond to start with, and seeing that losing the giant in plain sight was damn near impossible, Mitch figured he must have parked up around the side of the store.

Sure enough, he spotted Scott in the center of about eight small children, all of whom were in the middle of a rough and tumble game of soccer in the middle of the car park and shouting very loudly. The blond was acting as referee, coach and the occasional obstacle; even a ride at one point as one of the kids jumped onto his back.

"Hey, c'mon you little rascals!" he was cheering them on excitedly. "Between his legs, that's it! Find some space!" he yelled at one of the boy's who had just stolen the ball and was charging down the car park while under pursuit from a hoard of tiny kids. Mitch squinted. There was something about the way that boy was running that looked strange, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"That's it foxy boy, you can do it! Go for goal!" Scott urged the child on, getting as hyped up as all the kids. His words must have jinxed the boy, for as soon as he went to take a kick at the makeshift goal - two small snapbacks placed four feet apart - he stumbled over the ball and went flying across the tarmac.

It was quite funny really as he fell in quite a slapstick way, but Mitch winced, expecting a full on crying fit from the boy. To his surprise however, the kid merely heaved himself up laughing, dusted himself down, and ran back to join the game again. Scott clapped him on his way. "Nearly! You'll get it next time," the man reassured him, before finally noticing Mitch watching from the sidelines.

"Alright stay out of the road you lot," he instructed. "I'm just gonna have a chat with my buddy over there," he said as he jogged over, slightly more dusty than earlier due to the mini sandstorms the soccer game was creating.

"You know those kids or do you just join in with random kids games all the time?" Mitch asked, amused as Scott wiped at his head, inspecting his hand as it came away dirty.

"A bit of both," he admitted, rubbing the dust off on his shorts, and proceeded to list off which kids he was acquainted with. "You got Noah, Ava, David, I went to David's christening," he added. "Little Mia over there is Kate from work's little niece," he said, pointing to one of the smallest who was just running around barefoot. "She's got a mouth smarter than her aunt at five years old," he chuckled. "The rest...I'm not sure, but I probably know their relatives!"

Their was a loud cry of joy from the group as one of the little girl's scored a goal and the kids all dog piled on top of her. While Scott called out his congratulations, Mitch searched around for any obvious parents also watching and saw none nearby. "Isn't anyone keeping an eye on them?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, me for now!" Scott declared with glee. "And then when I'm gone someone else will take over," he explained like it was no big deal. Mitch on the other hand still wasn't convinced these kids were safe from abduction or any other danger that might be lurking on these streets and Scott must have noticed the uncertain look on his face. "They're fine," he assured him, "San Diego itself is a pretty close knit town, but especially here in Little Italy, people look out for each other," he commented. "I guarantee these kids are being closely watched by the store owners to make sure they don't get in trouble."

 _People are really happy to let their kindergarten aged children roam wild?_  When he was their age he wasn't allowed to take five steps away from his mom before she would be grabbing hold of him and telling him not to run off. "A bit different to New York," Mitch observed.

Scott chuckled. "I'll bet."

"You grew up here too then? Played on the streets like these kids?" It seemed to Mitch sometimes that Scott lived and breathed this city.

That apparently didn't mean he was from here though. "Me? No," Scott gave on his rare nervous laughs, one he usually reserved for when he was around the manager of Mestizo's, and ran a hand through his hair. "I uh...grew up way out in the country. Safe area but not many kids to play with. That's why my soccer skill levels only match these little tykes."

"They're better at sport at that age than I ever will be," Mitch speculated. "And I would definitely be crying if that was me," he said as he watched the boy who fallen earlier take another tumble only to bounce up like he was made of rubber. 

Scott followed his gaze, face breaking into a huge grin when he saw who Mitch was looking at. "Yeah my boy's a little scrapper," he said fondly. That line came so out of the blue that Mitch didn't comprehend what had been said for a moment.

Taking a moment to process, he asked "Sorry, did you say  _your_  boy?" in shock, realisation suddenly dawning on him.

Beside him the blond took a deep breath in. "Yep," he replied shortly. Scott then put his thumb and his forefinger in his mouth and let out a whistle that would make any New Yorker proud. "Yo metal man, get over here!" he yelled.

Immediately one of the kids, the one who had fallen over a moment ago, charged towards them, little face red from all the exercise. Again, there was something odd about the way this kid moved but Mitch still couldn't work out what it might be, and there were more important matters to hand such as:  _Scott called him his boy?_

Instead of stopping on his own accord, the boy ended his charge by using Scott's leg as a crash mat, gazing up at the blond with a look that could only be described as pure adoration. Placing a large hand on the boy's head, Scott spun the child to face his stunned colleague, announcing "Mitch, I'd like you to meet my son, Fox."

He gave the boy a nudge forward. "Say hi to Mitch kiddo," he coaxed him, obviously at the stage where pleasantries were still being taught.

Mitch wasn't overly concerned by being said hello to, he was more interested in this whole scenario itself. This was certainly an event he hadn't foresaw and he didn't know what the proper way to respond was. So he settled for just staring at the child. There were two things bothering him in particular.

One: the kid didn't really look anything like his supposed father, with his tanned skin and dusty brown hair. The only noticeable feature in common were the blue eyes.

And two:  _Who the hell names their son Fox? I mean, is that what's on his birth certificate?_  If it was then Mitch felt sorry for the child.

The boy gazed up at him, only somewhat interested. "Hi Mitch. I'm four," he greeted him politely like he had been instructed to while adding his own important fact. "Daddy my leg's itchy," he complained, bending down and squeezing his left knee.

Scott crouched down and gave the leg a tap. It made a strange sound, kind of like it was hollow, and freaked out Mitch even further. "Well the nurse told you it was gonna to take some wearing in," he said gently.

"It keeps making me fall over!" the boy whined.

"How can it itching make you fall over?"

"It's wobbly!"

Scott pulled the boy's jean leg up to reveal yet another surprise. Mitch promptly switched from staring at the boy's face to staring at his leg. In the place of skin the boy had a metal limb starting from just under the knee; all very high-tech looking, the silver coloring shining brightly under the sun.

He peered intently as Scott reached out his hand to give the limb a little shake. "Oh so it's wobbly too now, is it?" he queried in an overdramatised way that made Mitch assume this wasn't the first time his son was whining about it.

He shook the limb again and then fussed around a bit at the top where the prosthetic met the actual joint, and pulled a face. "I dunno it seems okay, although I'm not an expert on these kinds of things. You Mitch?"

Mitch was thrown by the sudden question and realised he had probably been staring wide-eyed for an inappropriate amount of time. "Uh...no," he mumbled, forcing his attention to look anywhere else except the little boy's -  _Scott's son's_  - leg.

Scott studied the prosthetic some more before standing up looking fairly unconcerned. "How about you take it off for a bit when we get back and then see how it feels later?" he suggested, giving the child's hair a ruffle.

"Okay." The boy seemed satisfied with that reply for the time being. "Are we going home now?" he asked, twisting to look back at the soccer game, obviously wondering if he was allowed to return to it.

"Yeah, just after we drop Mitch here off at his own home."

"Look, it's fine, I didn't realise..." Mitch stopped himself before he said something really dumb and instead forced out a small smile. "I'm sure I can manage," he insisted, although he knew taking a cab would cost him loads.

The blond turned to him in confusion. "But the stuff's already in the top box," he said in disappointment, motioning towards his motorcycle.

"You're sweating," Fox also stated randomly, while pointing to Mitch's head.

"I'm n–"

"Oh of course!" Scott thankfully cut him off before Mitch could rant at a four year old child and make him cry. "How silly of me!"

Fox turned excitedly to his father. "What's silly Daddy? Tell me!"

"Well you see, Mitch here is from a faraway land called New York," Scott explained patiently, making Mitch feel like he was being described as some sort of mythological creature.

"The Giants," the little boy whispered in awe.

"Yep, first game I ever took you to when we destroyed them," Scott boasted to Mitch and the younger man pulled a face of distaste.  _I literally couldn't care any less about football_. "But anyway," Scott carried on, "Mitch here is not used to our glorious weather which is why he is sweating so much,"   _I am barely sweating at all!_  It was most likely the stress of this unexpected meeting that had caused it. "And what's polite to ask people who are sweating?" Scott set the question to his son.

"Umm," the youngster thought hard for a bit. "Do you want a drink?" he answered hopefully.

"Absolutely!" Scott gave the boy a wink before turning back to Mitch. "So, do you want a drink?" he asked cheekily. "I think you'll find our house is sufficiently stocked in that department," he announced with pride.

"I uh..." Mitch struggled to answer. He didn't want to be rude but everything had happened so quickly. A few minutes ago he had been accepting a lift home from Scott and now he had discovered the same guy had a son with an amputated leg and was being invited to the man's home for a drink.

"You should M-Mi...Mister." The boy settled for being polite rather than continuing to try and remember the newcomers name. "Daddy makes the best fizzy soda's that make people go hyper!"

 _Well there's no guessing needed to know what that translates as_. Truthfully, Mitch could really do with a drink right now, something to take the edge off. But drinking for him was usually done in a quiet bar, or at home on his own.

Scott looked sheepish at his son's admission. "Well it's not a lie," he admitted, "C'mon Mitchy, it's your day off after all. Paint can always wait."

"Mitchy!" Fox cried out after hearing the newcomer's name for a second time.

 _It can always wait...but do I really want to go with this guy though?_  Honestly, the Scott who Mitch had talked to by the bus stop and the one he saw every day at work was not the sort of person who's house Mitch would spontaneously go to.

But that was not the same Scott. This Scott, the one he had met today, and the one in front of his eyes right now was a different man. The man in front of him was a  _father_. Mitch was suddenly overwhelmed with fascination for getting to know the blond more; clearly he was a lot more complex of a guy than he had initially thought. Plus, the idea of having a lift home and getting a drink was all too tempting.

Almost as if we were running on auto-pilot, Mitch threw his arms out in acceptance and let out a half laugh. "Okay then," he hesitantly agreed, shaking his head in amusement while the father and son cheered and high-fived.

 _If my own father could see me agreeing to this now_ , he thought. The man probably wouldn't believe it was his son who was accepting an invite to the house belonging to someone he had only known for a week. Besides curiosity, Mitch couldn't quite explain it either. But there was something about San Diego and his new job that was giving him the " _why the hell not?_ " spirit.

 


	8. My House

Walking over to Scott's motorcycle, Mitch was pleasantly surprised to find that his three tins of paint had managed to be fitted securely in the three top boxes. To say he was slightly apprehensive about hopping on what he had always called death machines would be an understatement, but he thought Scott couldn't drive too much like a maniac if he had a four year old as passenger.

He stood by awkwardly while the little boy leapt easily onto the bike and grabbed a black jacket and red racing style helmet that were sat on top. Mitch smirked slightly; it was a strange sight for him to see a human that size wearing motorcycle gear. There was a brief moment while Scott argued with Fox about the child not wanting to do his jacket up that was abruptly ended when Scott threatened to just drive off without him.

Mitch wanted to point out that he wasn't wearing a jacket either and he was more likely than a four year old to fall off and get his ass dragged along the road or whatever.

The blond gave the boy a pat on the back. "Alright to hop on the front Fox?" he asked.

"Yeah yeah," the boy said nonchalantly, before flipping his visor down, reminding Mitch of a mini version of his father. The young man snorted quietly at the boy's devil may care attitude. This kid was definitely a lot cooler than him.

Scott got on the motorcycle first and reached down to lift up his son, sweeping the boy up under his armpits in one swift motion and placing him in front of him so he was partially sitting on his lap and partially sitting on what Mitch assumed was the fuel tank, although he really had no idea. He looked secure enough but there was nothing really available for him to grip tightly onto, seeing as his arms couldn't reach the handlebars and his feet were nowhere near the foot peg.

Mitch then heaved himself onto the back in the most unimpressive way possible, having to take a run up and still needed three attempts before he eventually made it up. At least he had a sort of backrest in the form of the top box, albeit an extremely hard and rigid one. Nevertheless, he didn't trust it enough to put his full weight against it and gripped onto the back passenger grips like his life depended on it, even though they had yet to move an inch.

Scott wriggled around a bit too, trying to get comfortable, his large frame struggling to get into an appropriate position. "A bit squashed, but we'll manage," he decided, passing his headgear to the man on the back. "Here you can take my helmet," he offered.

Any personal hygiene fears Mitch might've had were completely overwhelmed by the need for more protection and he gratefully shoved it over his own head. Immediately his whole world changed into one of dark stuffiness and muffled sounds.  _My hair,_  Mitch thought.  _My hair is going to look horrendous after this._

"The only thing I'm gonna ask of you, is that when I take a corner you lean into the turn, not away," Scott requested.

Mitch nodded, before asking, "This is so not legal is it?"

The blond twisted his head, viewing his passenger with his trademark smirk. "Mmm nope!" He laughed, turning back around. "Don't worry I know the routes that avoid all the traffic cops!"

The thought of his father finding out he'd been arrested almost caused Mitch to laugh as well, until he remembered that getting arrested was something he definitely didn't want happening to him and that he should probably get off this motorcycle straight away and carry on about his day in a safe and sensible manner. But he was wedged; getting off would be harder than getting on.

_I could always claim kidnapping if we do get stopped._

"Are you sure he's alright sitting there?" Mitch queried, having to strain his vocal chords more than usual in order to be heard under the helmet, while peering anxiously to the tiny child just sat at the front with no obvious safety precautions besides his attire.

"Fox?" Scott seemed puzzled Mitch would even question that. "Yeah he's been riding on my girl since he was born." He reached forward and gave the small shoulders a squeeze. "We good?"

"Yep," came the muffled reply and a small thumbs up followed.

 _Again_ , Mitch thought.  _So much cooler than me at that age._

To give him some credit Scott did pull Fox so he was even closer to him, slightly more secure against his own body. "Hold on tight, you don't wanna lose your other leg do you?" The man made a joke which Mitch would never have dreamed of making, but had the little boy giggling hysterically. "You too Mitchy," the other man warned him, having to shout as he turned the ignition on, the engine roaring to life underneath them. "With your financial situation you'd only be able to afford a pirate leg!"

Mitch didn't like how realistic that scenario was right now and had one last moment of regret for ever agreeing to this impossibly charming man's pleas, before Scott kicked up the stabiliser and they were off.

Even though it was only just over a ten minute drive to Scott's house, it was fair to say that for the first half of that journey, Mitch was not enjoying himself one bit. As they drove through downtown he was constantly certain the cops would appear at any moment and every intersection they came to Mitch would have to grit his teeth to stop himself from screaming. You would have thought he was on a rollercoaster from the rapid beating of his heart.

Travelling on the freeway wasn't much better. There weren't any corners but they were very, very fast amongst a lot of other vehicles. His borrowed helmet wouldn't come in much use if they got into a collision here. Thankfully they were only on the busy road for two minutes and soon enough Scott was pulling off and taking them on a much more leisurely drive through Balboa Park.

After the initial terror this little scenic route was a lot more calming and Mitch even found himself admiring the scenery - it was mainly dry vegetation near this road - instead of focusing on how tightly he was holding on. Scott turned round once to check he hadn't fallen off or something, blond hair going crazy in the wind, and the younger man just screamed at him to carry on facing forward, not that he could be heard.

They exited the park, took a left, took an immediate right, and then they were travelling down a long residential road at a pace more to Mitch's liking. It was a road of mainly neat little bungalows with a few houses dotted in between and palm trees decorating the sidewalk. Each home was individual and unique in style. Cream, beige, green, blue, green again, peach, yellow; made of either brick or wood. It was a nice neighborhood, a family one.

After driving down the long, straight road for about a minute, and passing one of the tallest palm trees Mitch had ever seen, they pulled up outside one of the two storey houses. It was a fairly modern, angular house; painted white with a flat roof and large single pane windows. Five concrete steps lead up to the front which was secured by a high wooden gate and wall. Gazing up Mitch could also see a mini balcony facing the road.

Before Scott had even turned off the engine his son was leaping off, pulling his helmet off and shaking his unruly brown hair. The blond man gave Mitch a nudge too, indicating for him to dismount to. As he struggled off Scott spread one arm out and gestured to the building with pride.

"Here we are!" he exclaimed. "Nothing special but it's home."

"It's nice," Mitch observed as he argued with his equally wild hair, which seemed to have a different idea in which way gravity was working to normal.

Scott gave a chuckle and pointed too the gated carpark next to the house. "I'm just gonna park her up round the corner, I'll go through the back and let you in," he said. "Wait here metal man," he instructed Fox when the child went to follow him, leaving the four year old and Mitch in an awkward silence.

Fox tried to kick off a conversation while in turn kicking at a stray rock. "That's my room," he said, raising a finger to the window at the top.

"Oh right..." Mitch had apparently forgotten how to talk.

Not put off by the man's unenthusiastic response, the tiny child continued to keep the chatter afloat. "Wh-where's your room...in your house?" he asked with a small frown on his face, obviously struggling to think of what you were supposed to say to strange adults.

"Umm at the front?" _Why am I being so awkward?_

"Is it noisy?"

"Yeah it can be."

The boy nodded in understanding. "It's annoying when it's noisy cos you can't get to sleep,"

"Yeah." _Words Mitch! Do you think you could possibly come up with a few more?_

Fox kept on kicking at the rock, reminding Mitch once more of his father's same actions by the bus stop earlier that week. "My bedtime's supposed to be half eight but Daddy doesn't make me," he informed Mitch. "That's why he gets told off."

Before Mitch could ask who would be telling Scott off, the man himself opened up the front gate and the boy charged through, making his escape from the silent man as quickly as possible.

Scott grabbed him by the neck as the child knocked past his leg and gave him a warning look before giving Mitch a regular bright smile. "Come in! Come in!" He beckoned with one arm. "Welcome to our palace!"

"Thank you," Mitch politely replied, having to hold his breath as he squeezed past Scott to get in, seeing as the blond refused to move from the gateway.

"Go take your leg off then," Scott gave leave to his son, who charged off instantly. "And don't just throw it to the side, that cost a lot of money!" he shouted after him.

Ignoring the front door and beckoning for Mitch to walk with him, the small man followed his host round the corner and up some more steps through a sliding glass door that lead directly into the living room. The moment Mitch stepped foot inside he was met with walls that were covered almost entirely in movie and music posters, along with a floor littered with glass beer bottles and cans.

 _Someone's been having too much fun_ , Mitch pondered, as he took in the bottles on the massive leather couch and balanced dangerously on a table that also held a large flat screen TV. He didn't feel comfortable commenting on the amount of alcohol being consumed on these premises yet, so settled for a safer inquiry to start with.

"You a Jurassic Park fan?" he asked as he passed three framed movie posters on the wall that lead to the kitchen.

Scott glanced to the side, having to check what Mitch was looking at and nodded. "Yeah but he's the real film buff," he admitted, motioning towards Fox, who had just chucked off his sneakers and was hurriedly disappearing upstairs.

"Steven Spielberg!" the boy yelled down, his footsteps heavy on the wooden staircase.

"See?" Scott shrugged. "I didn't teach him that." Kicking off his own shoes, he told his guest: "Follow me, we can sit on the balcony." The blond ran up the stairs after his son, presumably to take Mitch away from the mess downstairs. Scott hadn't mentioned it but Mitch assumed the older man must have some form of self-awareness when it came to inviting people into his home.

As he reached the top floor Mitch had a kind of pinch yourself moment.  _How is it that I'm in Scott's home?_  He couldn't believe it had only taken a week of knowing the man to be treated like he was a good friend. He felt like a bit of an imposter.

The top level was a lot smaller but still a decent size, and there were no signs of any partying happening up there. Mitch took a few sneak peaks into the bedrooms as he followed Scott to the balcony. Fox's door was ajar and he could just about see a floor cluttered with toys and magazines, as well as a few pairs of socks. Scott's door his wide open, practically welcoming Mitch to be nosy, and his is a fairly plain room, nothing out of the ordinary. No signs of someone else living here anyway which was what Mitch was really looking out for.

Scott leads Mitch out onto the small balcony, which is really just the flat roof above a section of the living room, and they are once again met with a sea of remnants from the recent get together. Even so, the small area is welcoming, the breeze cool and the patio floor pleasantly warm. There is a mini bar, iPod dock and a tiny fridge one end, a barbecue in the middle and three chairs around that. Mitch could picture it now; Scott, Kevin and Avi sitting up here and getting very, very drunk.

Mitch took in a deep breath of clean air. "This is nice," he complimented.

"You said that already," Scott noted.

"No I mean it, it's nicer than my place anyway," Mitch went on. Nicer house, nicer furniture, nicer job, nicer life. This guy did seem to have it all compared to him. "How long have you lived here?"

The blond scratched his head in thought. "Umm just over the year," he deciphered, "got a good deal on it because Avi knows the owner. Getting a raise at work didn't do any harm either." He began picking up the glass bottles and cans, appearing slightly embarrassed for the first time. "Sorry about the mess," he mumbled.

Mitch dismissed him with a wave of the hand. Believe it or not he'd seen worse back in the city while he'd been at college. The more money someone has the more damage they can cause.  _This is nothing compared to that time three SUVs ended up in a pool._  That stunt by the way, he had played absolutely no part in. "I take it there was some kind of gathering here last night?"

"You said they would leave by two but they were here until this much after two." They were interrupted by Fox scrambling in on all fours, now down one leg, and holding is arm at a right angle, trying to mimic a minute hand. "I read the clock!" he poked his father in the leg, as if he were giving him a telling off.

Rather than focusing on the fact that this child had been unfairly kept awake Mitch was again fascinated by the boy's leg, or stump now. The actual leg carried on a good three inches below the knee, but was smaller than normal, getting thinner until it came to the point where it had been amputated,  _or perhaps he was born with it?_  Mitch was very curious.

Scott meanwhile was playfully batting off his son's attempts at poking him. "Don't you just hate it when they start getting clever?" he said to Mitch, before answering his question. "Yeah I had a few friends over, y'know you've gotta let loose at some point otherwise you go crazy."

Mitch moved his head up and down in some form of agreement.  _I think it's too late for some of you._

"Can I go and watch Netflix?" Fox asked, drawling out the words slowly and purposefully as he swung from the blond's arms.

"Go on then, just try to keep it PG little man," Scott said, swinging the child towards the door. "Oh and Kirstie's coming over later, remember Fox?"

"Oh yeah! Is she bringing Olaf?"

"Not this time. This is a working visit. We've got important things to discuss."

"Okay!" The boy scrambled on hands, foot and stump back to his room.

Scott shook his head in fondness. "That'll keep him out of the way for a while," he let Mitch know.

"He's sweet."

"You bet he is," Scott vowed. He walked over behind the bar and knelt down. "So Mitchy, what's your poison?" he called out, shifting through the liqueurs and creating a lot of noise. "I can do you a Martini, Mojito, Negroni; I know how to do most stuff except a Commonwealth." The blond's head poked up from behind the counter with a look of disbelief. Well, I mean I know how to do that but you need, like, seventy one ingredients or something," he explained.

"I genuinely don't mind." Mitch let out a small laugh as he sat down. He just wanted anything that would give him some sort of buzz.

"Perfect! You can try the Scott special!" the man said excitedly, pulling out a cocktail shaker. "Kevin bought me this for my birthday," he informed Mitch, holding up the silver object to admire it in the light as if it were a piece of fine art.

"When was that?"

"September." On one hand that answer made Mitch grateful that it wasn't any time soon, but on the other it added to his already low self worth.  _Ten months. He's not even a whole year older than me and yet he's managed to build this life for himself. Where did it all go so wrong for me?_ Besides the obvious losing his father's company a lot of money of course. But had his life really been that special beforehand? Sure, he'd been living in a nice house, driven a nice car, had nice superficial friends. _But none of it was really mine. None of it was there to stay._

Oblivious to the little bit of self reflection going on in the other man's mind, Scott excitedly went and got a load of different juices from the fridge. Apple, mango, lime, orange passionfruit; pouring them all into the shaker along with some syrup, lime cordial, blue curaçao and rum. "I made this one last night and it seemed to go down well," Scott said, dancing around with the shaker. Mitch already felt a bit tipsy just watching what the blond had put in the drink. While he continued to dance and shake, Scott turned his attention back to interrogating the newcomer. "So, tell me a bit about yourself Mitchy. I never get to have a proper conversation with you at work."

Mitch shifted in his seat to get comfortable. He had a feeling this was going to be a long conversation. "What do you want to know?"

"Why'd you move to San Diego?" Scott started with one the most tricky questions to answer. "Usually people try and relocate to New York from here, not the other way around."

"I like to go against the grain," Mitch jested. "I...well..."  _Oh to hell with it. I can't skip around this question forever._  Inhaling deeply, he began: "So you see I was working for my father's company, we're in...we were in advertising." It still felt weird to talk about it in past tense. "But I made some dumb mistakes, people lost their jobs because of it, and it meant me working there was no longer ideal."

"He kick you out here or you run?"

"A bit of both." Mitch sighed. "He kicked me out of a job and I ran across the country to make a point." He let out a half hearted laugh. "I'm still trying to figure out what that point is."

Scott paused in his shaking and gave Mitch a look of sympathy. "That's tough."

"Really? You're not gonna give me any attitude for a trust fund, college educated kid getting kicked out of his daddy's company?"

"No," the other man stated in confusion. "Why would I?"

"That's usually how it goes, isn't it?"

The blond shook his head in disagreement. "Look, you can't help if you were born with money, can you? And I'd probably be taking myself to college too if it wasn't so damn expensive and I didn't have metal man to take care of." He walked to the balcony, leaning against the railing and gazing out across the landscape. "If you were an asshole who took what he'd been given for granted then I'd definitely be throwing shade," he said quietly, and then suddenly turned back to Mitch. "But you're not, you messed up, everyone messes up, more than half my life is me messing up!" he met Mitch's stunned gaze, every word of what he was saying was truly felt.

Scott gave him a small smile. "But you're not sitting in a corner crying about it, you're trying to get yourself back on your feet," he pointed out, the smile changing into a bittersweet one. "I know working at a Mexican restaurant isn't what you dreamed about as a kid - trust me it definitely wasn't mine - but it's a start. I'm sure a smart guy like you will move on to bigger and better stuff in the future."

He finally finished speaking and gently rolled the forgotten about cocktail shaker in his hands. Mitch was silent, he had no idea how he was meant to respond to that. "Sorry for the speech, my mouth tends to run away when I feel passionately about something," Scott blushed slightly, returning to the bar to fetch some glasses.

"No, no it's fine," Mitch insists after a moment to take it all in. "It was nice...thanks."

"Nice," the blond snarked, pulling a face. "Why's everything nice with you? Why not fantastic, amazing, fucking awesome?"

Mitch rolled his eyes and grinned. "Alright then it was fucking awesome!"

"Yeah!" Scott shouted, decanting the orange and blue coloured drink into the two tall glasses. "Voila!" he held one out to Mitch excitedly.

The younger man peered into the glass and gave it a sniff. You could barely smell any alcohol in it. That was usually a dangerous sign. "What do you call this then?"

"The Scott Special of course!"

"It's ni–" Mitch stopped himself short. "It's amazing," he declared. He wasn't lying.  _This tastes pretty fucking good._

"Why you're too kind sir." Scott took a bow, nearly spilling his own drink everywhere, and pulled up a chair so he was sat right opposite Mitch. "So what was your actual job back in the big city?" he asked. "Don't get too technical on me," he warned, although Mitch was beginning to get the feeling the guy was a lot more switched on than he often acted.

"Well to put it simply I would set up meetings with potential clients, pitch them our ideas, and then hopefully make a deal and a lot of profit."

"So like Mad Men without the sexism?"

"If you like," Mitch indulged him of that comparison. "Honestly as a non-straight guy I always preferred having a team of women around me, they're just usually more..."  _Pleasant? Kind? Non-judgemental?_  "Just better to work with."  _That'll do._

"Mestizo's must've been a shock to the system then, along with other stuff," Scott noted, before narrowing his eyes. "When you say non-straight...?"

Mitch internally sighed.  _Of course he would focus on that point._  He didn't think Scott was the judgemental type, and knew California as a state was pretty relaxed but that didn't mean he wasn't wary when this type of conversation was brought up. "I mean that I'm open to all possibilities," he simply said. "But mainly those only involving other men," he ended with a small smile, hoping Scott wasn't suddenly going to turn out to be a homophobic asshole.

Thankfully true to form the blond just shrugged his shoulders in a relaxed way. "Cool, y'know what they say: no one is hundred percent straight or gay, most people kinda fall somewhere in the middle," he pointed out, grinning cheekily at Mitch. "At least I won't be the only guy at work now who swings more that way," he swung his hand to one side, "than that way," he swung it to the other.

Mitch stared at him blankly for a second. "But...Fox," he managed to stutter out.

"Yeah well like I said, not a hundred percent one way or the other, he was the result of that," Scott's eyes crinkled in concentration as he tried to think of the words, "let's say intoxicated five to seven percent," he decided.

"Y'know I wouldn't have guessed."  _This day really has turned out to be one full of surprises._

The blond opened his mouth in mock shock. "Why? Because I'm a disgusting slob?" he joked. Mitch could neither confirm nor deny that and the two both ended up laughing, the effect of the cocktails making everything seem funnier. "Anyway let's not get caught up on who and what we're attracted to, although if you want a story you should ask Kevin what it's like waking up next to a pig...as in the oink oink kind," Scott evilly planted that image in Mitch's mind.

"Cos that'll make him like me!" Now he was going to have to ask. 

"Hey! He likes you already," Scott argued.

"I think like may be a strong word, he puts up with me, like a Saint."

"Like I said before Mitchy, for a new guy, you're not half bad."

He still found that a bit hard to believe. He was a perfectionist so doing a job less than perfect was never acceptable. "Were you being serious when you said you broke ten plates in your first shift?" he asked, switching the focus to the other man.

"And then some!" Scott recalled. "But I was only young, and the exec chef at the time, Dean, good guy, had a soft spot for dumb kids like I said. That and Avi made sure I never got in too much trouble." He smiled thoughtfully. "Just like he always has," he murmured.

Mitch wished he had a friend he could rely on so heavily. In fact any friend would be a start. "I want to do a good job. I promise I am trying," he idiotically reversed the topic back to his own poor attempts at work.

"I know you are, we all do, even if the others like to mess around," Scott insisted. At Mitch's uncertainty he leaned forward and put a hand on the skinny man's knee. "Look if it bothers you that much how about I come round yours tomorrow, after I drop Fox off at his buddy's? I can help you paint and take you into the restaurant before opening hours, give you a few tips," he offered. "You'd have to make your own way home but you'd be surprised how much you can learn with a little one on one. What?" he stopped short at Mitch's incredulous face.

The younger man shook his head, at a loss for words. "People out here really are friendly," was the best he could come up with.

"To people we like."

"Thank you...I uh...you've been so good to me Scott."

"No problemo," he took another sip of his drink. "It doesn't hurt that I happen to enjoy your company," he also revealed.

It must've have been the alcohol taking effect but Mitch suddenly felt incredibly emotional. This was the closest he'd ever felt for being accepted for who he truly was, faults and all, and by this idiot of all people.  _Maybe I do have a friend out here._  It certainly felt that way so far.

He cleared his throat. "So...it's just you and him?" Mitch finally breached the elephant in the room. Or rather the Fox.

"Yeah...yeah been like that for about three and a half years now."

"I never," Mitch waved his hands about, gesturing to Scott, words still not coming as easy as usual.

"Saw me as the fatherly type?"

"Well..."

Scott chuckled. "Don't worry, I don't blame you!" he exclaimed. "I'm not exactly perfect dad material, I'll be the first to admit it." He took another sip of his drink as if to emphasise the statement. "But we get on well enough."

"Where does he go when you're working?"

"Oh I...I have a lady come here," the blond mumbled. "She keeps an eye on him for me until I get back," he explained.

 _Huh, that sounds strangely similar to my own childhood._  One thing he could share in common with the little boy. He still had so many questions though. Who was Fox's mom? How did he lose his leg? Where on earth did that name come from? How did Kirstie fit into all of this?

He didn't know which of those were the most appropriate to ask first. "How–"

"Hello." Scott greeted as they were once again interrupted by the little boy. The man pulled his son into his laptop. "What were you watching?" he inquired.

"Dexter."

Mitch giggled at the blond's exasperated face. "You're just trying to get me in trouble aren't you?"

"Well I'd already started watching the third episode on Tuesday," the youngster immediately began thinking up excuses, "and...and you always say Daddy that you should finish what you started." He let out a high pitched squeal as his father tickled his sides.

"See?" Scott grinned at Mitch. "They get clever and you start losing simple arguments."

Catching his breath back, the boy seemingly only just now realised they still had company. He tilted his head, scrutinising Mitch's appearance. "You are a funny looking man," he concluded. "How do you make your hair do that?"

Mitch blushed slightly at that innocent observation. "Um, a lot of time in front of the mirror."

"Can you do my hair like that?"

"Maybe if it was a bit longer."

"But...but you could maybe, like, do a mini version like this." The boy demonstrated by flattening his own hair to one side. "Or I could do yours like mine," he suggested, hopping down and reaching towards Mitch.

"Hey do us a favor Foxy, go and tidy your room," Scott rescued the other man from the impromptu makeover that was about to occur, giving Fox a nudge away from them.

The boy fixed him with a steely gaze. "Fine, but you're doing the rest," he ordered.

"Yeah I know," Scott said, sounding like the child in the relationship. "We clean up our own mess." He said it as though it was line he had repeated many a time before.

"Yeah cos Kirstie's not gonna like it otherwise," the boy jeered.

Scott threw a bottle cap at him. "Get out of here," he instructed, but it was all in good nature, and Fox scrambled away in laughter.

Alone again, the two were silent for a while, just watching the few white clouds drift across in the sky and absorbing up the sun's warm rays.

"What's your idea of a good life Mitchy?" Scott asked randomly, in a voice so quiet Mitch almost didn't hear him.

"Huh?"

"The good life," Scott repeated. "What would make a good life for you? Fame? Money? Success?"

Mitch thought hard for a moment. "I guess setting up my own company, seeing it do well, showing my dad that I can do it on my own, being my own boss," he decided. "What about you?"

"My good life..." the man said slowly, leaning back in his chair, eyes still to the sky. "Y'know I got into cooking just to make ends meat, and just ended up stuck here. I'm grateful for my job and I guess I'm good at it. But it's not my passion, not like Avi."

"What do you want to do then?" Mitch queried, greatly interested; he hadn't been expecting this sort of revelation. He thought Scott loved his job and the people he worked with obviously loved him.

Bringing his head back down the blond man viewed Mitch with a hopeful expression. "I wanna turn Mestizo's into something more than it is already. Don't get me wrong the food is great if I do say so myself, the service above average depending on the day...but what makes our restaurant any different to the next one? At the end of the day we're nothing special."

He leaned forward enthusiastically now, eyes bright. "We've not got a unique selling point like you'd say in business terms," he continued. "I wanna turn it into a place of music, a place of entertainment, a place of dancing, a place of meeting knew people. I wanna put a smile on people's faces. Restaurants shouldn't be purely about the food; it's the whole experience!"

He leaned back again with a dreamy look on his face. "Maybe one day it could even be a hostel, inviting people from all over the world to our little corner of the country!" he finished, raising his voice and his hands in excitement.

Mitch smiled at the joy he was radiating. "Do you have any serious plans?"

"Plans...hmph, yeah we have plans, but they're nothing until you take action are they?" He rubbed a hand over his eyes and appeared visibly tired for the first time. "Look," he started, "I dunno why I'm telling you this but you seem like a guy I can trust, and if you're a business head like you say you are maybe you can give me some feedback."

Hearing Scott out was the least the younger man felt he owed him right now. "I'm listening," Mitch let him know.

Scott nodded and ran a hand through his hair. "Antonio, the owner, and a massive asshole I'm telling you, he's thinking of selling on soon, to the highest bidder y'know?"

"Yeah." It was common for restaurant owners to sell on all the time, especially when they were the kinds that tried to emulate chains.  _So these guys wanna buy the restaurant?_ That was quite unheard of; the staff taking over, for reasons proved by Scott's next statement.

"Well even if the whole staff pitched together we would never be able to afford it but this is where things get interesting. Kevin heard through Cesar who heard through a friend of his on the restaurant circuit that Antonio's been getting involved in some side businesses, the illegal kind y'know?"  _Again, business leaders getting involved in some dodgy dealings, not that unusual._  "Being near the border has it's benefits for dealers of a certain substance." _And I need no guesses as to what that substance might be. Jeez, who have I got myself working for?_

Seeing that Mitch hadn't completely shut him down yet, Scott went on explaining the crazy and quite honestly stupid plan. "So we were thinking, if we really did want to make a bid on Mestizo's we could use that little bit of knowledge as leverage to get a better deal, one that would work for us. It could work right? If we went about it in a clever and subtle way." He looked to Mitch expectantly. "What do you think?"

"It's not an entirely unheard of method of conducting a business," Mitch admitted. Blackmail was more common than the general public liked to believe although Mitch himself had always steered away from it and people who liked to employ it. Those people had usually been rich guys in suits though, just trying to make themselves even more rich, not a bunch of young, hard working kitchen staff from a little Mexican restaurant. He shook his head in wonder at the drive his work colleagues had and asked: "But Scott, why'd you tell me this?" The man had no reason too, not to someone he barely knew, at least not in that much detail.

"Like I said Mitchy, you seem like a trustworthy kind of guy."  _There we go with the Mitchy again. I have a feeling that's already stuck in your brain._

"I don't think you'd be saying that if you knew me back in the city," Mitch reminded him of his shady past.

"But we're not back in the city!" the blond cried out in frustration. "Listen, I don't care how much you fucked up in the past. The point is you're here now, you're a part of my team, and you seem like a good person." He gazed straight into Mitch's brown eyes, every word he spoke sounding honest and true. "Good people, they can be hard to come by, y'know, when you find one you gotta latch onto them," he mused, before putting his head in his hands, having run out of anything else he could think to say in order to persuade Mitch he was on his side.

He didn't need to though for Mitch, despite what a lot of people believed, did actually listen to other people and those words meant something to him, had rung true with him. And the man who had spoken them was the closest thing he had had as a friend in...well, ever. Picking up his glass, he gave smirk at Scott's still downturned head. "I'll drink to that," Mitch announced, holding his cocktail high.

Scott raised his head. He looked surprised for a moment but then grinned, raising his glass to meet Mitch's. "My kind of man," he said as they toasted. "My kind of man."


	9. Turnaround

The next hour or so flew by. It was three o'clock now and the two young men were still just relaxing on the sunny balcony, neither having moved a muscle for a good while unless it was to lift a drink to their lips or to swat the occasional fly away. They hadn't been talking about anything in particular, just flitting between random subjects that the two had a common interest in, a lot more than Mitch would have first suspected.

It would be fair to say Mitch was definitely feeling buzzed. He had only had the one drink but Scott had not held back on the alcohol to juice ratio. His head was pleasantly light. Eventually Scott heaved himself up and stretched his long limbs, giving Mitch a lopsided smile. "Listen, I've gotta tidy the place up but you can just stay out here and chill, Kirstie shouldn't need to be here too long."

Mitch stood up too, perhaps a little hastily as he swayed slightly from the sudden movement, and needed to take a few seconds before he was certain he was steady enough. "Let me help," he insisted, putting a hand on Scott's shoulder and removing it just as quickly when he realised what he was doing. That was undoubtably the cocktail working on him. He never initiated any form of bodily contact with someone he didn't know very well unless it was a handshake. Actually even with people he did know well, such as his dad, it was usually only a handshake.

Lowering his gaze as he felt his cheeks beginning to redden he still continued: "It's the least I can do in repayment for your kindness."

Scott laughed and the smaller man realised that the blond had probably taken no notice of the hand at all. He was speaking to the guy who was practically glued to one of the chefs at work all the time.  _It's like he's a magnet or something._  "You make everything sound like a business transaction Mitchy," Scott teased, beginning to gather up the glasses.

"Old habits die hard I guess," the brunette shrugged, feeling a lot less uncomfortable now.

For a moment he thought Scott was going to argue but then the blond's shoulders slumped in defeat, again in a complete turnaround that made him look like an entirely different person to the cocky persona Mitch was usually met with. "I would appreciate it," he admitted, peering across at his guest with gratitude. "Maybe if you could just collect any bottles and cans you see laying around and let me know if you find any...spillages." He said the word as if it wasn't just drinks that might have been spilled.

Mitch shuddered at the thought but nodded all the same. "On it," he barked out like a soldier and started collecting any object that looked like it had contained alcohol at some point, beginning with the multiple perpetrators on the balcony.

As he bent over to pick up one bottle he felt a large hand squeeze his shoulder, freezing in his motions as it stayed there for what Mitch felt was longer than necessary. He probably looked quite silly, just freeze-framed in his awkward position but for some reason it was even more awkward for him to make eye contact right now.

After another pause the hand left and he could breathe again. "You're a life saver," he heard Scott say before the other man walked off. Mitch wondered what had happened to the savvy, smooth talking business man and why had he been replaced with someone with the charisma of a twelve year old stricken with early on-set puberty.

Methodically he made his way around the house, even checking the bathroom where he found a wine glass in the shower, and making sure that there were no suspicious looking stains on either the furniture or the floor. He liked to think he was doing a good job seeing as cleaning up after a wild party like the one Scott had presumably thrown had never been his speciality.

It wasn't like he wasn't experienced in the partying lifestyle, he was pretty sure he'd created a lot of mess in his time, with people who could afford to go a lot wilder with their partying, the only difference being he wasn't the one who had to clean it up. He and his old work colleagues had people paid to do that. They never had to deal with their own mess. 

Despite his inexperience he found that collecting the empty alcoholic containers was actually a good way to sober up and was hoping Scott was experiencing similar effects by cleaning the kitchen, regarding the fact he was supposed to be driving Mitch home later on.

At one point Mitch recreated some sort of horror movie scene, when he checked under the couch to discover multiple beer cans all squashed up underneath. And by multiple he meant more than twenty. There were a lot. Either Scott had been having the same few friends coming over constantly or he had recently thrown a  _huge_  party.  _Maybe that was what Fox was on about when he was talking about the noise?_  Mitch hoped the kid had a lock on his door so no unwanted drunk guests could ever stagger in.

"Why what a good little worker you are," Scott teased as Mitch walked over to him with his arms full of glass beer bottles.

"Where do these go?" he asked the blond who was trying to simultaneously trying to wipe down the kitchen counters and wash the multiple stacks of dishes.

The man kicked out a grey plastic box from underneath the counter. "Shove them in there, out of the way of prying eyes," he said. "I'm meant to be cutting down on all this but...well, there's always an excuse to just drink away life's problems, isn't there?"

Mitch couldn't deny that, even if he didn't necessarily agree with it. As he straightened back up he noticed another bottle sitting by the sink, one of the few that had been washed out, and went to grab it. As it happened this was the time that Scott also went to pick up one of the plates. There hands connected...and neither boy moved. It wasn't like they were holding hands or anything but Mitch's palm was definitely making contact with Scott's knuckle; it almost seemed like an idiotic handshake Avi would invent.

 _His hand's warm._  Mitch didn't know why he was thinking about the other man's body temperature at that second but it was true; compared to Mitch's cold and slender hand, Scott's was like a mini-heater, warm and welcoming, much like the man himself. It was probably because he'd been washing up though.

"Sorry," he mumbled, his voice coming out mere decibels above a whisper.

"It's okay," Scott replied amicably, pausing before quietly saying: "Can I just?" motioning towards the item he had been aiming for.

"Oh yeah, sure." Mitch snatched his hand away as though Scott's warm hands had suddenly burnt him, bringing a startled expression to the other man's face.  _Smooth Mitch_ , he cursed himself.  _Real smooth._

Luckily he was granted his leave when there was the sound of three firm knocks on the door and Scott checked his watch with a grin.

"On the dot as always," he announced. "Mind getting the door Mitch?"

Mitch obediently trotted off without a word, happy to escape the more embarrassment he had somehow managed to create for himself and he opened the door to discover someone whose identity had been a mystery until now and a sort of puzzle for him to try and work out.

"Hello there," he greeted cordially, like he was Scott's butler or something. The girl in front of him was extremely pretty, even he could appreciate her natural beauty. She had wavy blonde dyed hair and looked to be of Spanish or Mexican descent. She was also dressed in fairly formal attire, nothing too fancy but she kind of reminded him of a teacher with her pale blue shirt and black pants. 

She smiled back at him. "Hi."

"Uh, Scott's just in the kitchen," he responded, once again probably seeming a lot more inept at talking than he really was.

"Okay. Thank you." She gave him a small smile and walked through the door, already well familiar with the house.

Mitch stayed by the open door for a moment, only his head twisting to follow her movements. He wasn't being intentionally weird but it was just right now he couldn't stop thinking about Avi pestering Scott about this girl, as if it were his life's mission to go on a date with her. He felt kind of rude for knowing what was being said behind her back.

"Hey girl," Scott greeted in a fake accent, one he often used when imitating the guys at work, coming out of the kitchen with a dish cloth still in his hands. Mitch saw him anxiously scan the living room for any lingering mess before visibly relaxing when he found his guest had done a very good job at tidying.

While Mitch decided now was the time to actually close the front door, Kirstie gave the blond a warm smile as the man quickly flung the cloth back into the kitchen. "Scotty," she acknowledged him, pulling him into a friendly hug, her small frame practically disappearing under his long arms. "How are you?" she asked as they broke apart.

"Sam old, same old," Scott answered as the two sat down on the couch, Kirstie reaching into her purse to bring out a file and set it on her lap. "Just working hard and keeping my head down, you know me," Scott continued. Mitch scoffed quietly to himself.  _Yeah, driving a motorcycle illegally. Very subtle._  He wasn't about to rat Scott out here though when he was just as much the guilty party for going along with it, and he remembered what the blond had said to Kevin and Avi, about how he had to impress this Kirstie. He didn't want to step on his toes after he'd been so nice to him.

"How is work?" the young woman asked.

"Stressful." She nodded understandingly and Scott gestured towards his guest. "Luckily we were gifted with some new quality staff this week." She gazed back at Mitch again, who was still standing by the door, and gave him another smile.

"Ah, I see." Then she opened up the file in front of her and Scott's relaxed demeanour was all of a sudden replaced by a tense one. Mitch noticed the blond's breath catch and saw his muscles stiffening up, his one hand grasping the back of the couch tightly. "Where's the Fox?" It was a normal question but there was also a hint of authority to Kirstie's query.

"In his room, he's learnt how these things go by now."

Scott said no more. Kirstie was taking charge of the conversation from now on. She raised her eyebrows with a hopeful expression on her face. "So?" She questioned, leaning slightly forwards him.

In a form of retaliation, Scott in turn leaned back so he was resting against the arm of the couch. He folded his arms. "So," he echoed, looking a lot more moodier all of a sudden, almost like an anti-social teenager. Mitch recognised the look because it was one he had often been accused of himself by his father. It was a look that said: " _I'm only listening to you because I have to_."

Kirstie sighed. "So anything you want to tell me since our last meeting?" she clarified. "Anything you've been thinking over?"

The blond man made a few clicking noises with his tongue, staring up at the ceiling with a glazed over look. "Ticket prices are going up to watch the Chargers," he mused in a calm voice, running a hand through his hair.

Kirstie was not impressed by that answer. "Scotty," she warned, narrowing her eyes at him, not continuing until she had his full attention. "Have you thought any more about respite?" she asked straight out.

Mitch didn't know what that was or what it meant but whatever it was, the idea of it didn't seem to please Scott.

"No," he huffed. "I haven't had the time," he responded tersely.

The young woman took out a small black notebook and began jotting things down, and Mitch saw Scott's posture immediately change again as he tried to get a glimpse as to what she was writing. "Alright I understand," Kirstie nodded patiently. "But Andrea will want to know before the next review."

"I know, I know, I promise I will give it a think," Scott assured her, although he still sounded like a teenager in trouble with his parents rather than a serious adult. "When's this investigation going to be over? I was told it would only take a few months," he complained.

Kirstie gave him a sympathetic smile. "You should know by now that timekeeping isn't our best quality."

"Huh, yeah," the blond muttered. He cast a glance Mitch's way, momentarily looking like he'd forgotten the small man was still standing in the corner. "You can go and keep Fox company if you want Mitch," he suggested, jerking his head towards the stairs.

It was was more of a request to leave the two of them in private rather than an offer for Mitch, and although his earlier alone time with the four year old had been quite awkward, he figured that things were going to be even more awkward if he stuck around down here.

"Okay," he said, quickly and quietly making his way to the upper floor. The moment he was at the top of the stairs he heard the chatter start up again, only this time, from the tone of their voices, it sounded a bit more argumentative.

Padding along the hallway, he first peeked through the ajar door to Fox's room before entering and saw that the little boy was sat on the carpeted floor, in the midst of an intense lego building session. He stopped when Mitch pushed the door open though, and his face lit up. "Yo!" He gave the man a beaming smile.

Mitch smiled backed. "Yo," he echoed the greeting.

Fox went back to his legos before realising Mitch still hadn't entered through the doorway. "You can come in," he said slowly, like he was unsure if the man would understand him.

Mitch did as he was told and walked in, mindful not to step on any of the boy's possessions. "Can I sit here?" he asked when he was stood directly in front of the child.

"Yep," Fox answered without even looking up, more interested in his toys than where his guest was going to sit. "Are you not allowed to listen either?" he asked as Mitch sat cross-legged opposite him.

"No, I think it's private."

"It's boring," Fox corrected him. "They talk about me a lot so I should be allowed to hear but I'm not."

Mitch hummed in response, not sure whether he should agree with the boy or not. He decided that even if he were allowed to listen in, he would very soon grow bored and want to return to his room because, to put it briefly, the kid had a very nice room, a lot nicer than Mitch's was when he was younger anyway. Sure, he'd had an absolutely massive bedroom and all the toys and gadgets a kid could want but there was something rather...impersonal about his childhood room. After his mom had died all the drawings and little art creations he had made for her had been removed and he didn't bother to make any more, not when there was no one else to admire them. It had been a room purely for the materialistic, with no little touches that actually made your room your own.

Fox's room on the other hand had walls that were covered top to bottom in movie posters - much like downstairs - ranging from age appropriate films such as The Lion King to the not so appropriate such as The Godfather, as well as many colourful drawings and paintings.

There were also a lot of photos everywhere, either in frames or just pinned onto the wall. In one very nice silver frame, on the boy's bedside cabinet, was a photo of a smiling young girl holding a baby. Mitch assumed that the baby was Fox and the girl was his mom, it would certainly explain where the darker hair and skin came from. Except this young girl - for she was young, just a teenager but the looks of it - had never been mentioned before and the baby in the photo clearly had both legs still intact. Mitch scanned the rest of the room for any photos of Scott and this girl together but found none.

Nosiness getting the better of him, he tried to find out a little bit more information. "Do they talk a lot?" he asked the little boy, who was in the process of merging two of the lego figures together to make one huge monstrosity.

The boy paused what he was doing in order to think. "Yeah...umm," he frowned in concentration. "Daddy and Kirstie have been friends for quite long..." He tilted his head at Mitch as he thought some more. "But now she has to talk to him like not just a friend." He shrugged. "That's her job," he explained. "Wanna play exploring?" he asked immediately after.

"Sure, what do we do?" Mitch realised he wasn't going to get much more sense out of a four year old so what better way was there to spend the time than play a game.

"We explore silly!" The little boy laughed. "We...hang on you can be this guy." He handed Mitch a lego Batman but then instantly took it back. "Actually I'll be that one and you can be this one because he's bigger," he concluded, handing Mitch a lego hulk. Not the best comparison but Mitch supposed the line "you wouldn't like to see me when I'm angry" could be applied to him; he did have a sharp tongue when necessary. "And then we have to search for treasure in the room," Fox explained, pulling his car covered duvet off his bed and onto the floor. "We have to search in this cave."

Mitch had never been in a duvet cave before. It was quite exciting.

"What's your guy called?" He pointed to Fox's lego, if he was going to be exploring with a mini hulk under a duvet he might as well immerse himself in the drama of it all.

The boy gave him a toothy grin, happy Mitch was taking things seriously. "Umm...Snake, like the video game man who sneaks around a lot," he decided. "What's yours called?"

Mitch studied the angry green plastic man, pondering on what fitted him best. "Sia." He nodded in approval at his own choice.  _Two nice sibilant names for us._

"See ya?" Fox questioned.

"No, she's a singer," Mitch told him. "She sings the: " _Baby I don't need dollar bills to have fun tonight!_ " song." He didn't like to brag, but he had fucking nailed that line. It was rare he had a chance to showcase the results of his many vocal lessons as a child.

His little example tune had also helped Fox realise who he was one about. "Oh right!" The boy exclaimed enthusiastically. "I love cheap thrills!" he sang out, adding on to Mitch's chorus. Mitch was impressed.  _This kid is certainly on the ball when it comes to pop culture._

Names chosen, the youngster lifted up the duvet and placed it over his head. "Okay then let's go on an adventure Sia!" He giggled, voice coming out muffled from his new location.

 _An adventure indeed._  Right, well, like he'd been telling himself all day, there was a first time for everything, even playing make believe with a child he'd only known a few hours.

"Right behind you Snake!" he called out, diving under the duvet too.

Time passes quickly when you're having fun, especially when you're relishing in a form of play usually only associated with children. Mitch couldn't remember that last time he had felt so carefree and silly, crawling around on his hands and knees, putting on funny voices, and searching for objects that could pass as treasure.

The messing around ended when he heard the shuffle of footsteps and a small cough, and he wriggled back out into the real world, face red and hair a mess, to discover Scott standing there. 

"You two seem to be having fun." The blond was leaning against the doorframe, signature wry smirk on his face, and Mitch wondered how long he'd just been watching two giggling mounds move under the duvet. Checking the clock he was shocked to learn that he had just spent nearly half an hour playing with toys.

"We've been finding treasure Daddy!" Fox shouted, also exiting the duvet cave and scrambling over to his father.

"Wow! Treasure!" Scott gushed in awe. "What did you find?" he asked, looking to Mitch.

"A candy bar, a stuffed rabbit and some marbles." It had been quite a haul.

"Ah yes marbles, the greatest treasure of all."

Fox laughed and attempted to climb up his father's legs. "Have you finished talking?"

"Yep, it was just a quick one today. Kirstie's even agreed to keep an eye on ya while I take Mitchy boy home."

"Yay! I'm gonna show her my new leg!" the boy exclaimed, grabbing the prosthetic in his hand rather than attaching it in it's proper place. "I'm coming Kirstie!" he shouted, rushing out of the room, taking a tumble right outside, getting up straight away and charging towards the stairs.

"Come carefully," Kirstie advised from below, clearly worried the youngster was going to fall down the stairs as a result of his eagerness but used enough to the boy that she trusted him to get downstairs on his own.

Scott had barely batted an eyelid during that whole commotion, and Mitch noticed the man in front of him was a man a lot more drained than earlier; any buzz he had gained from his own drink was now gone, leaving in it's place a pair of tired blue eyes. "Hope that wasn't too stressful for you," he sighed, gesturing towards the mess behind Mitch.

"No, not at all," Mitch quickly responded. "He's a great kid," he assured him. He really was. Mitch didn't usually like kids when they were that age, preferring them when they were less...messy, but with Fox, he hadn't being able to keep a smile from his face.

"Yeah..." Scott scratched at his stubble, blinking slowly a few times as if he was trying to gather up his thoughts, before he turned around. "Well then, I guess we should get going. You're probably itching to get out of this crazy house."

Not really. But Mitch supposed he had definitely outstayed his welcome.

Following the tall man back downstairs, they found the other two sat on the couch watching Spongebob on the television.

"Bye," Mitch called out to them as he made his way to the door.

Jerking his head their way at the farewell, Fox ran over to them, looking slightly distressed. "Are you coming back?" he hastily asked Mitch, eyes wide with worry.

Thankfully Scott answered that question for him, saying happily: "Course he is metal man. He's part of the Mestizo family now."

The little boy appeared relieved. "Okay that's good, I was just wanting to be sure I would see him again." He bounded back over to Kirstie, waving to Mitch as he went. "Bye Mitchy!"  _Great, now I have two of them calling me by that name._

Giving Kirstie another polite nod, he walked after Scott, who already had his motorcycle parked up outside, and was graced with a spare helmet this time. They were both silent as they jumped or clumsily clambered on the bike and Scott started it up, Mitch twisting to watch the house grow smaller and smaller until they turned a corner and it disappeared.

The journey back was a lot more relaxed than earlier, mainly because they stuck to the quiet streets and there wasn't much traffic about. Scott also did him the favour of driving quite slowly, whether it was because he was concerned about his blood alcohol limit like Mitch was or if it was because he was deep in thought after whatever his conversation with Kirstie had been about, Mitch couldn't tell.

Within twenty minutes they were back at his after a few simple directions from Mitch and the smaller man felt his mood already dipping when he cast his gaze to the place he now had to call home.

Once again the time it took Mitch to dismount, take his helmet off and sort out his hair was enough time for Scott to dismount, open up the top boxes, take out the paint tins, carry them to Mitch's front door, walk back and get on the motorcycle again. "So...I'll come round at about nine tomorrow?" he queried, reminding Mitch of the offer he had made him earlier. "That gives you a bit of a lie in."

Mitch's shoulders sagged. "That's what you call a lie in?" he whined.

"Hey, I'm just trying to ease you into this little to no sleeping schedule," Scott countered. "It'll give me time to help you with any painting you might have left and take you to the restaurant for a little one on one," he finished with a cheeky wink at Mitch.

The other man rolled his eyes. "Nine o'clock it is then," he reluctantly agreed.

"You won't regret it baby." Oh hell no were they going to move onto that nickname. Mitch's glares at the pet name only made Scott's grin widen further though.  _I really need to find out what really annoys you._  But he figured he could save that for another time.

"Thank you, again," he said to Scott, who just waved him off.

"Alright enough with the thanking, it's getting old." He tilted his head, eyes wandering behind Mitch. "He yours?"

Mitch spun around to see what Scott was looking at, and discovered that there was a certain tiny hairless cat waiting by the gateway, rubbing his head against the metal fence.  _Huh, well there's someone to welcome me back at least._

"Oh um...not really."

"Seems to think he is," Scott speculated as the little cat ran up to them and started walking between Mitch's legs.

"Yeah," Mitch smirked. "Well...we'll have to see about that."

"Hey there little one," Scott cooed, holding his hand out towards Wyatt, and smiling when the cat licked at his fingers. "Take care of Mitch for me until tomorrow," he instructed, and Mitch was amused at how affectionate the big, strong blond man was being with the creature.

Giving Wyatt a farewell pat, he sat back up to say his goodbyes to Mitch. There was a moment when neither was too sure how they were going to do this until Scott said with a smirk: "Douchey bro handshake?"

Mitch shrugged. "Sure," he replied, also smirking.

They carried out the move with a practiced ease, Scott being used to doing them all the time at work and Mitch had shaken his hands with his fair share of frat boys in the past. Still, they were both laughing afterwards at how dumb they both thought they looked.

Scott picked up his helmet and shoved it over his head. "I'll see ya tomorrow," his muffled voice said, before the bike roared into life again and he was off.

Mitch waited until the man had vanished before heading to his apartment, more to delay the chore of manual labour than anything else. The moment he set foot through his door, he cracked open his first tin of paint. He knew if he sat down he would lose all motivation to do any work. Wyatt watched with fascination as Mitch poured the paint into a tray and dipped the roller into it, starting the painting in the hallway.

After a few minutes Mitch wished he'd unpacked his radio because painting he'd discovered, was very boring. Having covered less than a few feet of wall, his mind began to wander to the day he had just experienced. It was all a bit surreal, like he wouldn't be surprised if he woke up and found it had all just been a dream, one that he would laugh about.  _Scott invited me to his house? And he was a son? And I had a good time? And he's coming over tomorrow?_  A dream seemed more likely to him.

However even though the day had been so good and Scott had been so kind, now that he was on his own again, stood alone in the hallway of his tiny apartment with his belongings still in boxes, the comedown started. He'd been on such a high earlier that now his reality was emphasised even more; and he couldn't stop the feeling of jealously seeping in, a big green angry monster. A feeling of not being good enough, of not being worth anything to anyone in the world. He knew the feeling was completely unjust. He knew it wasn't Scott's fault; the guy was just going about his everyday business as always. He didn't realise the effect he'd been having on Mitch the whole time.

 _Why can't I have just a fraction of what he's got?_  It wasn't like Mitch had never worked hard to try and make a good life for himself, like the one he had described to Scott, and yet here he was, a failure. According to Scott his own ideology was a far fetch from where he was now, but at least he was on the right track. He had plans at least. Mitch wasn't sure what his plans were still.

This plan of theirs though...this stupidly crazy and risky plan. It was a similarly risky plan on a much larger scale that had landed Mitch in the doghouse back in New York.  _Who would have thought that another opportunity would present itself so soon?_  Of course it wasn't his plan to be involved in, he was just a lowly prep cook, he had no control over how this situation panned out in his current position. At the moment he highly doubted that Scott and whoever else was in on it - he was guessing most of the kitchen staff if not all - had the right motivation and drive to go through with it. Like Scott had stressed earlier, they weren't business savvy folk, they were just people with a dream.

Mitch on the other hand knew about this stuff. This was his speciality, even if he didn't exactly have much experience in the art of running a restaurant he was pretty sure he would be able to cut off any loose ends with a blackmail play. _But who are they to listen to me?_ They didn't trust him enough yet. Maybe they trusted him enough to leave him alone at the grill for a while but absolutely not enough as a trusted colleague and friend. At the moment Scott was the only one who Mitch could say had broken that acquaintance barrier and moved them into the friendship zone. But that was only because the guy hadn't really given him a choice.

But if there was the smallest chance that he could be involved in this scheme, a scheme that did have a strong backbone, one that could turn into something great, surely he had to try and get himself involved in it somehow. It's what I'm good at.  _And if Scott really meant what he said about me being part of the family then why shouldn't I squirm myself into the plan?_

 _Yeah_ , he decided. At the next opportune moment, he was going to broach the subject of this plan, see if there was a way to turn it to his advantage somehow.  _I may yet get to show my dad what I'm made of._

Feeling a lot better with that in mind, Mitch was able to to settle back into painting, except...

_Why are there white paw prints on the floor?_

"Wyatt!" he yelled, realisation setting in. "You better get your scrawny ass back here right now!"


	10. Faith

A week had passed since his random get-together with Scott and not much had happened in between then and now; the Monday of the following week. He had gone to work, he had completed all of what was asked of him, he had tried to keep himself to himself mainly for self-protection services, and he had tried his best to block out Avi's ridiculous jokes.

As he had promised, Scott had turned up at his door just after nine o'clock on the Sunday - so much for a day of rest - with a bright smile on his face and a kind of barely contained energy like a dog eager to go for a long awaited run. Mitch was pleased to say he hadn't done so badly himself the previous day when it came to painting, as he had finished with the hallway and his bedroom. He hadn't really wanted Scott going inside his room anyway and nosing around, and it meant he could also finally unpack everything in there, including a treasured framed photo of his Mom with a four year old him on her lap.

Different times. Such different times those days were. Sometimes Mitch just found himself staring at that photo, silent cries escaping from his lips, tears falling for the life that was cut short all so sickeningly by a trigger happy psychopath. She had been so full of life and so loving and so giving and then she had been lying in a casket and he had been throwing earth on top of the shiny wood, his tiny hand barely able to grab more than a few grains of soil.

And in his darkest hours he also cried for himself. Selfish as it seemed, he pitied that young boy in the old photo, the one who had the biggest grin on his face, because that kid was going to turn into him. Who knows who he might have been if his mom was still alive today? Who knows what he might have achieved? But instead that little boy, who had always seen so much light in the world, had become the mistrusting, hard-headed, pessimistic man Mitch saw every time he looked in a mirror, a man he at times hated.

Maybe he would have even been someone similar to Scott. Someone who appeared to practically emit beams on sunlight to everyone around him and who's optimism was a wonder to behold. Their upbringings must have been vastly different to have created men with personalities and beliefs as contrasting as their own.

If the blond was surprised by just how cramped Mitch's apartment was he didn't let it show as he was invited in. After a few brief pleasantries Scott had set to work laying some white sheets he had brought with him on the floor of the living room, an idea Mitch should have probably thought of before he had a cat trailing paint around the floor yesterday. Mitch had set to work making them both some strong coffee before getting down to painting also.

The two didn't talk about anything in particular, the conversation going much the same way as it had gone on Scott's balcony the other day, but this time Mitch did dare to ask a few more personal questions. It only seemed fair seeing as Scott already knew a fair bit about his life in New York. From their painting session he had learned that the guy had grown up in a small place called Descanso, a backcountry area of the Mountain Empire of San Diego County. A close knit community with a population of less then fifteen hundred that Mitch found hard to even imagine growing up in.

Scott had told him he was the youngest of three, having two older sisters who were six and eight years older than him. That was another fact Mitch envied about him; he had always dreamed of having a sibling when he was younger, and knew his parents had probably planned on having more children if things had turned out how they should have.

When Mitch had tried probing any further however, the blond had immediately flipped the conversation back around to focus on the younger man, and had begun asking him a multitude of stupid, elementary age questions such as "What's your favourite color?", "What's your favourite season?" and "What's your favourite pizza topping?". As long as he wasn't pestering Mitch about his old job, the smaller man felt he couldn't really complain and so the two had talked incessantly about absolutely nothing until all of a sudden it seemed, their task was complete.

It had certainly gone a lot quicker than the night before and Mitch was genuine in his appreciation for Scott's help, and even more so when the blond kept his promise about taking Mitch to the kitchen early in order to brush up on the younger man's skills.

It was weird, being in the empty and quiet kitchen after only ever seeing it filled to the brim with staff and basking in it's own heat. Scott didn't have long before the other weekend staff would begin arriving for their shifts but it was enough time for him to show Mitch proper knife technique and etiquette for chopping up different vegetables, herbs and meats, as well as showing him how best to make certain salads an entrees.

Although perhaps what was most useful were the insiders tips Scott had picked up over the years, knowledge that you would only know from having worked in the same place for as long as he had, such as how to best prioritise when you were given several commands at once or how to predict what influx of orders might be coming in depending on the day, the time and the weather, so you could be somewhat prepared.

It was all very helpful and Mitch took careful note of each and every one.

And so during the following week he had put all these new skills into practice and had found that the work was getting gradually easier, or at least it came more naturally to him. With his newfound less uptight attitude at work it had also lead to more friendly conversations with the other chefs and cooks, especially Kevin who he often found himself working in close location to. The line cook was always eager for a chat.

Yeah, even though he still didn't feel like he quite fitted in yet, it was still way better than it had been on his first day. He was starting to find himself smiling more during work than frowning. Still sweated just as much though; wasn't much he could do about that.

"Hey Mitchy boy!" He jumped slightly at his work station - the salamander for now, which was kitchen slang for a high temperature broiler - as a hand grasped his shoulder. "It's been too long!" Turning to the bearded man, he gave Avi a welcoming smile.

"Morning Avi," he greeted. He wanted to add a "you're late" but decided he still wasn't quite as confident around this superior as he was with Scott.

The man gave him his signature smile while he fussed about with some kitchen utensil Mitch had never seen before. "How was my favourite little prep cook's weekend then?" he asked. "You go out, meet any hot guys?"

He raised his eyebrows a few times and Mitch just rolled his eyes. Scott had informed everyone last week in a very unsubtle way of his preferred choice in partner and ever since half the staff had been going out their way to try and set him up on dates with guys they knew. He was basically getting the opposite treatment to Avi with his obsession over Kirstie.

"No," he told the chef as he moved on from the broiler to cutting up some tomatoes and radishes for a salad. "I stayed at home in my underwear and watched reruns of Grey's Anatomy."

That answer elicited a hearty laugh from the older man, something Mitch was finding it easier and easier to achieve. "What a fascinating life you do lead young man," Avi said with an amused shake of his head.

"Hey," Mitch shrugged casually, "you haven't lived until you've experienced doing simply nothing for a whole day Avi." He finished with one batch of vegetables and swiftly moved onto the next, his hands almost doing the thinking for him.

_Damn, I'm not half bad at this now!_

Beside him Avi let out another loud cackle of laughter. "Oh believe me I know what that's like, that's my high school experience you're talking about right there!" He finished fiddling with whatever it was he had been holding and readjusted his chefs hat slightly. "Well then time for work, can you prep some-"

"Already done it." Mitch interjected his reply, motioning towards some corn and black beans that had been prepared after he put Scott's tips into good use. He regretted interrupting instantly as Avi's face froze into one of surprise, the man himself stunned into silence by Mitch's response.

 _Idiot! Why the fuck did you say that?_  Mitch wanted to kick himself for his own insolence. _I can't get too relaxed,_  he told himself.  _I'm still just a nobody here._

He steeled himself ready for a berating from Avi but instead he got a slightly astounded, "Good job Mitch," and he turned in shock to see Avi looking in satisfaction at his work. "Very good job," the man repeated, giving Mitch a small smile and a respectful nod before heading off with a shout directed at one of the line cooks.

Mitch was a bit too astonished to restart what he had been doing and let out his own laugh of surprise and relief after that unexpected praise. Never had he believed it possible to feel so pleased about being told he'd done a good job at shucking some corn.

"Told you practice pays off," a quiet voice murmured from behind.

Mitch smiled to himself, picking up his knife again and starting up the process of chop, chop, chopping once more. "It hasn't made perfect yet though," he pointed out, as Scott leaned against the worktop, notebook full of knowledge and imagination in his hands, his forehead already having a slight gleam to it as Mitch was sure his did too.

"Nothing does," Scott countered, before giving Mitch a questioning look. "Did you really just sit at home all weekend?"

"Well now that I have my beautifully painted new walls to admire, why would I ever want to leave?"

"I guess there's no arguing with that then," the blond chuckled. "If you ever do find yourself getting bored though, you've got my number, I'll always be game to meet up, providing there's nothing going on with the Fox."

The thought of that appealed to Mitch a lot more than it did two weeks ago. Spending time with Scott, and maybe more importantly Fox, actually filled him with something not too dissimilar to excitement.

 _I'm like a first grader_ , Mitch thought,  _getting excited over hanging out with my buddies at the weekend._  Maybe that's why he and Fox had clicked so well. Also getting closer to Scott meant getting closer to being more involved in the little blackmail plans the others had been plotting.

"Alright," he agreed readily to Scott's suggestion. "I might take you up on that offer." His thoughts now on a certain little boy, Mitch checked up on the blond man's son, asking: "By the way how's Fox's leg...fitting in?"

"Good thanks, he's stopped complaining about it anyway," Scott replied as he scribbled down notes, a smirk creeping onto his face. "Now he's pestering me about buying him a sports one so he can run faster for soccer." He let out a half-hearted laugh. "Well that's not going to be happening any time soon, the other one cost me my own metaphorical arm and leg, even with health insurance."

He finished his note-taking and Mitch found a pair of blue eyes gazing fixedly at him, flitting around as if they were taking in every detail of the smaller man's appearance. "Hasn't quit asking about you either. Wanting to know when he gets to see you again," he informed him, still not altering his line of sight. "We're definitely gonna have to do something together just to keep him off my back."

Mitch smiled and forced his own attention back to the vegetables on the chopping board. "That's weird. Kids never usually like me that much," he speculated. "I scare them I think."

"Yeah...well we're talking about the kid who wants the dinosaurs to win in Jurassic Park."

Mitch's eyes crinkled in amusement.  _Yeah, I can well imagine that._

"I see then, I can't go upsetting four year old boys. It's a date." He didn't know why he had said those exact words, they had just sort of slipped out automatically and left him startled; that wasn't the type of self-confident banter he usually indulged in.

 _Why would I say that? When have I ever in my whole life said that?!_  He felt like a dumb character from a cheesy rom-com, except in this scenario there was no rom and he was far too often the target of the com.

Scott didn't linger on his choice of words however, casually putting his notebook into his jacket pocket and clicking his tongue in agreement. "You bet it is," he said, pointing both index fingers towards the younger man as he backed away. "I'll catch you later, keep up the awesome work Mitchy,"

After any more embarrassment was averted, he liked to think he did keep up the awesome work, and Mitch found that engaging in conversation with the others was becoming easier, which in turn made his job more enjoyable. Enjoyable. That was a word he hadn't expected to associate with kitchen work.

As the day grew older there was little time for idle chit-chat as the midday orders rushed in. Mitch was put on "meat duty" which basically meant he was stuck in front of a fryer, the main target of the sweltering heat with added oil spitting at him, and he found himself yet again talking to Kevin, allowing the older man to regale him with tales of his childhood days.

"Me and Avi bro, we've known each other since we were this high," Kevin informed him, holding a hand just below his waist. He had just finished reminiscing about a pastime known as pool hopping, of which Mitch was told kids would sneak out at night and jump over garden fences or walls, taking a dip in as many private pools as they could before they got caught or ran out of nearby pools.

_I wouldn't put it past some of these guys still doing it._

"Grew up on the same street," Kevin continued to talk about his friendship with the sous chef. "Went to the same school, even kissed the same girl at Prom who wasn't either of our dates and ended up spending the night together!" He paused and thought about what he'd just said, giving Mitch a funny look. "Not in that way though!"

"I wasn't saying anything." Mitch was quiet for a moment before giving Kevin a side glance and wryly saying, "You would make a very cute couple."

The man laughed loudly and gave him a friendly nudge. "Shut up fool." Mitch grinned. Being called a fool by Kevin meant you were alright in his books.

"What was your prom like then?" the man asked, curiosity as clear as a bell.

"Oh." Mitch hummed, trying to think up an excuse until giving up and announcing the truth. "I didn't go."

He knew there was a lot worse he could have admitted to but he was just starting to get to a point with Kevin where he felt like the man wasn't perceiving him as some sort of anomaly like the others did. Even Scott, who he had become closer to than any of them, occasionally looked at him like he was a kind of New York ethereal being, not just a normal person.

"You didn't go? How come?" Kevin didn't sound judgemental at all but Mitch knew his inquisitiveness was too strong to accept anything but a full answer.

"Me and people just didn't really see eye to eye. I was kind of a loner in high school believe it or not."

"Hmph yeah, something tells me it was more by choice than happenstance."

_I can't really argue with that._

"It wasn't like I didn't want to be friends with people," he insisted. He had always viewed his peers, laughing and joking with one another while he sat alone in a corner, with envy. "But a lot of the time just making no effort at all to talk to people was easier than talking to others and getting rejected," he explained, surprised by how tight his chest was getting with a hurt he had thought was long since extinguished.

"Didn't you go into advertising? Isn't that all about talking to people and charming them?"

"Mhmm," Mitch confirmed. "But it's all," he wafted a hand in front of him, "it's all face-value. You can say one thing to a client's face and feel another, it doesn't matter; it's not a terribly deep relationship you're entering into with them."

"But trying to make true friends means revealing a lot more vulnerable side of yourself," Kevin spoke up.

"Yeah." Mitch nodded in approval at the man's observation. "Precisely."

Kevin was quiet for once, his face one of contemplation. "I don't know what might happen next year," he began thoughtfully, voice more hushed than Mitch had ever heard it that he had to strain slightly to hear him over the noise of the kitchen. "Or next week," Kevin carried on. "Or the next day, or even the next minute, and yet I still go forward. Because I trust. And because I have faith," he said to him with conviction.

He gave his younger colleague a small pat on the arm. "Try having a bit more faith Mitchy," he encouraged. "It'll do you the world of good." And then he was silent after that, allowing Mitch to take in his words of wisdom, the two just continuing on with their individual tasks in a comfortable peace.

Mitch really did try to take those words to heart. Even with his joking around and almost constant chatter, he could tell Kevin was a very intelligent guy and hell, he knew he could probably benefit from having a little bit more faith now and then, but the problem with faith in his mind was that it also required a great deal of luck, of putting your trust in the unknown.  _Having luck definitely isn't my strong suit._

Kitchen life carried on as normal for the time being, but just as the orders were slowly dying down and Cesar had taken a brief break leaving Scott in charge, Mitch sensed not all was quite right, or rather he felt it. He felt what he thought at first was a gust of air caught up around his feet, and shifted is footing slightly, assuming someone had just gone out the back door. But within a few seconds of that the light brushing against his ankles turned into a definite tapping on his foot.

_What the-?_

Mitch frowned.

Mitch looked down.

Mitch screamed.

"AHH!" He yelled out in horror extremely loudly, probably deafening everyone in close range, and leapt for his life from the intruder straight into a much larger body. "What the fuck?" he cried out, not caring that he was gripping onto Scott very tightly right now, almost pulling himself into the other man's hold in his state of shock.

"Quick Avi! Get her before she cooks herself!" Kevin fretted as a startled dar brown chicken flapped around, getting dangerously close to the food and the burning hot water.

"C'mon Bey, c'mon," Mitch watched absolutely dumbfounded as Avi began dashing about the kitchen. "This way girl," the man tried to coax her but the chicken was having none of it. In fact while he was preoccupied with the bird another appeared out of thin air and started giving Kevin the same treatment.

Mitch had to check he wasn't dreaming as he watched two fully grown men be outdone by two flightless birds. He heard and felt Scott sigh behind him as two hands squeezed his rigid shoulders.

"You alright?" the blond checked, his calm attitude evidence to prove he knew about these chickens.

"Yeah, no..." Mitch took a deep breath in. " _Why_?" he screeched.

"Hold on a sec," Scott brushed past him and marched over to the madness. "Get them out of here guys," he ordered, taking charge. "If Cesar sees them inside he's gonna go loco."

"We're trying to Scotty," Avi exasperated while the other staff bar Mitch started to laugh hysterically. "But as you can see these tykes are not exactly the best followers of instructions," the bearded chef growled as his catching attempts were foiled again and the chicken scuttled off round the corner in an awful fuss.

"Jeez, do I have to do everything around here?" Scott groaned and slowly walked towards one of the birds, gently ushering it into open space, leaving only to go and find the other one and guide it to the same spot. "Stand by there so they don't escape," he told Kevin and Avi. "C'mon out with you both," he said, enticing the chickens to move by slowly sweeping his arms forward and, as if they were well trained dogs, the two intruders paraded their way back outside out of view, followed closely by Scott, and Mitch heard the sound of a gate being closed.

"All you had to do was keep them in the coop for God's sake guys," the blond chastised his friends for their carelessness.

"We just wanted to give them a little tour of their new home," Avi explained, pulling a face like Mitch imagined Fox might when he was in trouble with his dad. "They didn't contaminate anything I promise!"

"Even so," Scott sighed and gave the still startled prep cook an apologetic look. "Mitch, Lacey, clean this place down," he instructed, gesturing to the floorspace where the two birds had been running laps.

Mitch did as he was asked to immediately, eager for a distraction after he'd just been jump scared by a freaking chicken. "Sorry Scotty," Kevin apologised. "Good thing your farm boy skills came in handy."

"I'm not a farm boy," the blond said as he noticed Mitch pause in his mopping out of curiosity of Kevin's statement. "Don't listen to them."

Mitch nodded, continuing to clean the floor, before saying as nonchalantly as he could manage: "Was it just me or were there two chickens in here a moment ago?"

Scott chucked and ordered everybody who had paused back to work. "There were," he confirmed. "They're called," he struggled to remember, coming up blank. "What did you guys decide on?" he asked the dynamic duo, who were busy trying to catch up with orders that had been temporarily put aside.

"Art, after Art Garfunkel from Simon and Garfunkel," Avi announced proudly. Mitch could have guessed that from the amount of times the man would burst into one of their songs.

"And Beyonce, after the Queen." That not so much.  _Never had Kevin pinned as a Beyonce fan._

But anyway, names were actually not what he was confused about.

He gave the three an incredulous look. "Yeah I wasn't really concerned with how I was supposed to address them, more why the fuck they were pecking at my shoes?" He paused as a horrific thought entered his brain. "You're not gonna make me kill them or something are you?"

"No!" Avi exclaimed. "How could you even say that?" he asked Mitch like the younger man had proposed to do it.

"Art and Beyonce are purely for egg laying purposes," Kevin clarified.

"Don't only females lay the eggs?" Mario called out from across the kitchen.

"Yeah they're both female," Kevin replied.

"Art's a female?" the other cook questioned. "Art's not a girl chicken's name dude!"

"Hey leave him alone!" Avi was quick to defend his choice of name. "He can be whoever he wants!"

"Maybe he's genderfluid," Mitch drawled from his crouched position of the floor, where he'd discovered a stain that may or may not have been leftovers from their recent visitors. Either way he wasn't taking any chances.

"Yes, exactly!" Avi gave him an appreciative glance. "See? Mitchy here gets it."

"I'm not even close."

"Well we would tell you but it's kind of...it's kind of this little passion project we've been cooking up," Kevin hesitantly said.

"He knows guys, I've already told him."

Both Avi and Mitch turned to the blond in surprise. One surprised he'd admitted to going behind their backs and the other surprised he'd had the cheek to do so in the first place. "You told the new guy without consulting us first Scotty?"

"Oh don't give me that shit! You would have spilled sooner or later," Scott retorted playfully to Avi. "Mitchy here's a trustworthy guy aren't you?" he asked whilst stepping around the man still crouched on the floor.

"Yeah, I'm not gonna rat you out or anything," he made the promise to Avi and Kevin, who both shared a look with each other, reminding Mitch of a pair of twins he knew from college.

Whatever was said in their wordless conversation, they apparently came to the conclusion that the younger man had earned the privilege to be allowed in on their crazy plans. "So chickens then," Kevin began, giving Avi the go-ahead to continue.

"It's all part of our grand scheme!" his friend willingly informed. "Fresh produce on sight! Organic and healthy and free range and all that!"

Kevin rolled his eyes at the other man's overexcitement but he too was visibly eager about the idea. "Obviously we'll have more than those two but this was just kind of a practice."

"It was my idea!" Avi boasted.

"And I know a bit or two about caring for livestock. Those two," Scott jerked his head to the doorway where the hens had left, "Rhode Island Red's; I'm used to them. Tough little critters, known as a backyard breed, can lay up to two fifty eggs per year if you treat 'em proper." He narrowed his eyes at the older two. "I wasn't a farm boy though, it was just a summer job," he clarified once again.

"Cesar's happy with this? Antonio?"  _I can't believe either would ever agree to this._

"Cesar's down just as long as they don't end up in the kitchen," Scott said, fixing a glare on Kevin and Avi. "And Antonio hasn't got a clue, he never comes around the back and is hardly here anyway." Another glare was sent towards the troublesome chefs. "And it's going to stay that way," he warned.

Avi held his hands up in submission. "Yeah dude."

Scott nodded. "C'mon, quickly!" He clapped his hands to rally people up. "We've wasted enough time as it is."

Soon everyone was back in the swing of things and by the time the executive chef returned you would never have known anything had gone awry. Scott could be professional when he wanted to and had done a good job at getting the kitchen back on track after all the feathered entertainment.

Mitch had nearly finished his cleaning of the floor and was maybe partially guilty of taking longer than necessary - seeing as Lacey had already finished her half ten minutes ago - in order to keep him away from the furnace of a fryer. Cesar had stopped next to him on his rounds and given him a questioning stare.

"What you mopping the floor for?" he asked and even though it wasn't an accusation it sure felt like one. Mitch had met and worked with some pretty intimidating people during his old line of work, but no man or woman had had the presence or powerful aura that the Mexican man commanded. He could be truly frightening especially when a dish was "86'd" (had run out) or when meals were "dying on the pass" (food that had been left so long on the pass because waitstaff were either too slammed or too lazy to pick it up that it was going cold).

He had barely spoken to Mitch so far but when he had it had been with the gruff tone he seemed to use with everyone. Actually the only person he had ever seen the man crack a smile at was Scott and that was after the man had made a fool out of Mitch by getting him to search the kitchen frantically one day after shift ended for a multitude of items that included a left-handed spatula, a bacon stretcher and a grill extender, all of which were fabricated from the blond's evil mind.

Mitch realised the exec chef was still waiting on his reply, foot impatiently tapping the shiny floor. "I uh..." Mitch gulped. The easiest thing to say now was the truth but he didn't want to get Avi and Kevin in any trouble. That wouldn't go down too well with the others.  _Think fast._ Thankfully his brain obeyed. "I was told there was nothing for me to do so I wanted to make myself look useful Chef."

_Perfect. That shares the blame between us equally and doesn't throw anyone under the bus._

Cesar apparently bought it also, as he tutted a few times and instructed the others: "Find Mitch here something more practical to do than cleaning a perfectly clean floor."

Mitch exhaled in relief and saw Kevin beaming at him as the man came over to "give him something more practical to do".

"Nice one," the man approved.

"Cheers for not ratting on us," he also heard Avi whisper to him as he passed by.

 _I'm winning them over_ , Mitch realised with glee.  _These guys are genuinely not fed up with me yet!_

The rest of his day was a blur. Evening drew in and orders sky-rocketed again; they had three -  _three!_  - parties of twelve or twelve tops as the others called them, plus a teenage gathering which got very messy when a food fight was initiated. Mitch was glad he wasn't part of the front of house staff who had to deal with that chaos and could happily laugh along with the rest of back of house who got to go home while their colleagues had to tidy up the carnage that had been created.

Back in the locker room the others were clearly getting hyped for a night out on the town, with Avi unable to contain his infectious energy as packed up his bag. "We heading straight to The Den now?" he queried.

The Den, Mitch had gathered, was basically a bar that served alcohol at very low prices on a Monday night, probably because they thought only students would be reckless enough to go out on the first day of the week, and was where the staff of Mestizo's loved to drink the night or early morning away.

"Hell yeah!" Scott exclaimed, just as excited as Avi. "Your turn to pay for a cab Danny," he told the young man with the golden teeth, a twenty one year old who, despite having been offended by Mitch on his first day, greeted him with a hug every morning.

"I paid last time!" he cried out in defiance.

"No I paid after you attempted to pay the driver with hugs."

Avi almost choked on his laughter at that memory. "He's not lying man," he said through tears.

"Fine. Whatever," the boy said, defeated. "Just take my money before I've had too many otherwise I'm not gonna want to part with it."

"You heard the man Mario," Scott instructed. "Me," he grinned wildly, "I'm planning on not remembering a single detail about tonight."

 _What about Fox?_  That was Mitch's first thought. Was the four year old staying with someone else tonight then? Scott had mentioned something about having a lady come and look after him until he got home from work but surely that didn't extend into overnight stays.

The blond didn't seem remotely concerned though so Mitch guessed there must be some ulterior system he had worked out.  _Maybe he's with his mother?_

"Woo!" Avi's yelling distracted him from his theorising. "That's what I'm talking about!" The man continued to chant, dancing around the room. "Invite Kirstie," he demanded, stopping in front of Scott.

"Nope," the taller man shoved him away.

"Damn," he grinned at Mitch, "worth a shot." His expression turned expectant at the newest cook. "You up for it Mitch?" The way he said it implied he wouldn't be too upset if the younger man turned them down and Scott affirmed this approach.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," he let him know, wanting to make sure Mitch wasn't going to feel pressured into doing anything he didn't want to, a far fetch from when they had all been egging him on to tell a joke that first day.  _They learnt their lesson from that experience._

Mitch checked the wall clock. It read half past ten. He had to be here again in the morning by half seven at the latest.  _I guess why even bother going to sleep? Come to think of it, this could be a way to get them to spill more about their plans, providing I'm the one who stays sober enough to listen._  "As long as I'm included in that free cab ride home," he smirked at all their surprised faces. "But there's no way I'm gonna cope coming out every week," he warned them.

"Oh neither will we!" Avi told him. "But we make the most of the quiet season while it lasts."

Mitch frowned at him.  _This is the fucking quiet season?_

He felt a hand grip the back of his neck and met Kevin's joyful face with his own unamused one. "Now you're starting to get it," the man declared.

_Get what?_

On his other side Scott spoke up. "You're definitely one of the gang now Mitchy. Joining us on a night out on a whim." He grinned, "I see that's the risk-taker in you. I like it."

Mitch returned the grin.  _I suppose it is._  Although he had never before changed his plans like that for anything that wasn't business or money related.

 _Just gotta have a little faith_ , he told himself, before laughing to himself quietly. _And hope this little deviation doesn't get me fired from this job also!_


	11. We Own The Night

Loud techno music reverberated off the walls of The Den, reminding Mitch of the many nights he had spent out in New York, charming potential clients or trying to reinforce fake friendships. The actual aesthetic of this nightclub though was vastly different to what he was used to.

Instead of the usual dark interior decor and shiny, futuristic styled bar, there was a more grass roots element to The Den, not to mention the fact that here there were a far greater many people of the Latino demographic, and without wanting to stereotype, they definitely added to the atmosphere in the club - in a good way - it felt more friendly and relaxed, as if he were at on old friend's gathering.

The interior was decked out with wooden furnishings and there were warm orange lights dotted about the place alongside the standard blinding white ones, and even though the place was teeming and the music was at a volume loud enough to physically move his seat, it didn't feel uncomfortable or overbearing like some places could.

The four of them - he, Kevin, Scott and Avi - had claimed one of the "snugs" while their other colleagues had already been lost to the masses. Drinks on the table or in hands - ranging from Avi's Dr Pepper and vodka to Scott's Budweiser - they had been chatting, or rather projecting their voices at one another, sharing stories from high school, work and the assholes they had met along the way.

Currently, Avi was in the process of collapsing onto the table in extreme laughter. "I'm dying, I'm dying!" he cried out, slamming his palm against the surface a few times.

This was in response to Mitch recounting the time a client had come into a meeting so drunk that he had just spent five minutes shouting and throwing potato chips at everybody, before dropping his pants and peeing into a plant pot. Needless to say, they had decided to go their separate ways with that particular deal.

Kevin was chuckling too as he wiped a stray tear from his eye. "Who would have thought advertising was so entertaining?" he speculated in bemusement.

Mitch shrugged, smirking at the older man as he took a sip of his Mai Tai. "I'm full of surprises."

Kevin nodded and raised his glass proudly. "And I'm full of Baileys," he proclaimed.

 _Yeah you are_. It was being proved to Mitch quite early on, that Kevin was not a man who could hold much alcohol. He suspected this was how the pig incident came about, although he was still too nervous to ask the man about that particular incident. Maybe it would be a good idea to wait until Kevin was too drunk to remember his actions or maintain any inhibitions before he interrogated him about it.

On the subject of getting answers, Mitch motioned around the general area, in particular at the drinks firmly placed in the older mens hands, like they were afraid the other might snatch it from them if they weren't careful. "Is this how the chicken idea came about?" he queried.

"No," Kevin replied, brow furrowing slightly. "Why?"

"I don't know...just seemed like a lot of alcohol would be needed for that to come about." Mitch failed to keep another smirk off his face again as the two sat up straight like alert meerkats, ready to defend their scheme.

Kevin turned to his bearded friend. "I do believe he's hatin' on our chickens Avi."

Avi nodded in agreement. "Hey!" he puffed out his chest, elbow slipping precariously on the table. "No hating on our girls...boy!"

"Yeah, not if you're part of the crew now too," Kevin echoed.

Mitch raised his eyebrows at the duo. " _Am I_  part of the crew?" he asked and the two glanced at each other and shrugged, looking to the blond for confirmation.

Scott had been strangely reserved since arriving, having hyped all the staff up into a frenzy before leaving - they had left their vehicles parked at the restaurant, there was no way they would be needing them tonight - and getting everybody to sing at the top of their voices in the cab ride to The Den. Ever since though he had barely spoken a word and Mitch had noticed a faraway glaze coat his eyes, as if he were existing in a completely different dimension to them.

His body flinched slightly as he realised there were three pairs of eyes all focused on him, awaiting his opinion. "You're still in the initiation phase," he told Mitch, proving he had at least been vaguely listening to the conversation. "We'll let you in on our general plans but keep the specifics to ourselves for the time being," he explained with a slight air of superiority that Mitch figured he was probably entitled to have.

Scott pointed a finger at the youngest man, giving him a lopsided grin. "Of course there's always a chance for a promotion if you're well behaved," he teased.

_He's acting._

Mitch knew how to read people and the man in front of him was acting. Scott was clearly trying to convince them all that he was his normal cheeky, carefree self but Mitch could tell there was something lurking beneath the bright smiles and easygoing banter.

He didn't pick him up on it however. If Scott wanted to have his secrets, who was Mitch to deny him?  _I definitely keep things locked away from prying minds._

Kevin was also giving Scott an extra long gaze, perhaps he too was aware that stuff was being kept from him. "Are we coming here for your birthday?" he asked Avi, finally tearing his eyes away from his younger friend.

"Of course!" Avi shouted a little louder than was necessary. "Where else?"

"Sorry man, stupid question," Kevin said, finishing off his drink. "You'll be there, right Scotty?"

"Yeah dude, I'm not gonna miss this one's big night," the blond exclaimed, reaching over and grabbing Avi in a headlock. "I've had space cleared in my diary ever since last year!" He laughed as the bearded man struggled to get free, complaints muffled by Scott's clothing.

Once he was free, and rather red in the face, he treated Scott with similar behaviour, wrapping a tight arm around the man's shoulders and leaning close to his face. "How'd you manage to convince Sarah to stay so late again?" he loudly whispered, giving his friend a shake.

"Oh um...yeah," the blond scratched at the back of his head and if Mitch was analysing him like he would have with one of his old clients, he would have marked it as "making an answer up on the spot" behaviour. But Scott wasn't a client so he had no need for this observation. "She's not gonna be too happy with me for leaving it late again," the man answered anyway.

"Did you even tell her you wouldn't be back until late?" Avi jeered, still leaning just as close, and giving Scott a few light slaps on his cheek to annoy him.

"Not exactly..." The blond shrugged casually, shaking Avi off him and taking another sip of beer. "But she'll be cool with it."

"I thought you said you couldn't stand her," Kevin interjected. "Said she was nosing in on everything all the time."

Mitch noticed the muscles in Scott's jaw tense for a second, before the man himself replied shortly: "People change," although to the younger man, it sounded as though Scott was answering that under duress, his features still more hardened than usual, the only movement coming from the multi-coloured lights dancing in the pale blue reflection of his eyes.

Apparently Kevin could sense the slight tension also, as he quickly dropped the subject and moved onto other matters. "My mama's birthday is next weekend too," he informed them, an expression of distaste written across his face. "That's going to be fun. Not."

"No family gathering is ever fun when you're the black sheep of the family Kevin," Scott said quietly, with an understanding Mitch wouldn't have expected from him. Himself yes; Mitch knew a thing or two about awkward family get togethers, of forced small talk and fake interest in one another. But Scott, he just couldn't imagine the blond being in that situation, Mr I Get Along With Everything and Anyone couldn't ever have possibly been considered the odd one out.

"Hmm yeah, maybe I should just take a leaf out of your book," Kevin pointed out in a way Mitch suspected was supposed to be jokey way, but all it served was to harden Scott's face even further. Avi elbowed the older man and gave him a knowing look, one Mitch couldn't quite decipher, and Kevin retreated quickly back to more light-hearted chatter.

Mitch glanced around, studying each of them.  _There's certainly more to these three than first meets the eye._

"What about you Mitchy? Is it all forced grins and smiles round your dinner table or are you one big, happy family?" Avi asked him, clearing his throat awkwardly at the end. "You're dad excluded for the time being," he added.

Mitch sighed, unwittingly loud, causing the three to look at him in surprise. "It's actually just me and my dad, has been since I was four," he let them know, tensing as the conversation went down a familiar and uncomfortable route he hated taking.

"Parents divorced?" Kevin queried.

"No uh...my mom she," he paused, bracing himself for what he had to say. It never got any easier, no matter how many times he repeated the horrible words. "My mom died...unexpectedly, just before my fifth birthday." He swallowed back a wave of emotion, trying to appear as calm as possible as he looked at their pitying expressions. "Was only ever me and my dad after that, neither of them had any close family left either."

He watched as Kevin and Avi's faces fell, the sympathy written across both of them. "Oh shit dude, I'm sorry for asking I–"

"It's fine," Mitch interrupted before Kevin could ramble on for too long. The less time they spent on the subject matter the less painful it was for him. "It was a long time ago."

Kevin shook his head, astounded by this new information. "Yeah but I–"

"How?"

They all blinked in surprise as Scott blurted out the simple yet almost demanding question. "Sorry?" Mitch had to check he had heard the blond correctly.

Face still devoid of any emotion, a look Mitch would have been proud of, the blond gestured with his drink towards the younger man. "How'd she die?" he repeated. "Your mom."

"Scotty," Avi hissed, cheeks reddening, and Mitch could see the gears in his fuzzy brain turning as he tried to quickly change the topic.

"She was murdered. Manslaughter as the judge called it." Mitch shocked himself by how calmly he was able to answer the question, both him and Scott the mirror of each other as they gazed across the table. "Bank hold up, shotgun wound to the stomach, she died at the hospital a few hours later." He waited to see if Scott's blank stare was going to alter, but no, it remained as steadfast as ever, and Mitch found it hard to avert his own eyes.

"Jeez I think remember that on the tv," he heard Kevin speak up, although his voice sounded almost distant, all noise was for the moment on a low volume, muted. "Yeah, it was probably one of my earliest memories of watching the news." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the man rubbing at his head like he was trying to rub the memory away. "Your mom was one of them," Kevin whispered.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry Mitch."

At Avi's sorrowful apology - Mitch never really understood why people said sorry like it was their fault - but it managed to bring him back to the real world. Avi was such a genuine person, and his sympathy for what Mitch had gone through was extremely powerful; the pure, raw emotion in his words hitting Mitch like a semi-truck.

At Avi's innocent little sentence, Mitch's emotions turned jagged and his insides tightened. He wanted nothing more than to cry out to those in reach, sitting silently where he was, wide eyed, heart in his mouth, hoping for kindness. He wanted a hug. He wanted to be soothed like a child. He wanted to cry out to them:  _"I need help, I'm so lonely. I feel so abandoned. Just come, just help me. Won't you please, please help me?"_

But instead he balked from the opportunity, fearing the embarrassment the inevitable rejection would bring him, and built up his expertly constructed walls as always.

"It's fine," he repeated, as if the thought barely affects him anymore. "Like I said it was a long time ago."

He allowed himself to relax slightly, thinking that the worst part was over and he could go back to talking about stuff that didn't involve his lonely and painful childhood. Apparently he'd thought wrong.

"Do you remember much about her?" Scott asked, his posture and expression still unnaturally still. "I mean four's pretty young, d'you remember what she looked like, smelled like?"

It was an intense line of questioning and honestly Mitch was slightly disturbed by the extreme interest the blond had in his mom. He would have been perfectly entitled to tell Scott to fucking mind his own business but there was something in his inquiry that was almost desperate; that despite the uncaring facade the blond had about him, there was a hungry need to know what Mitch remembered about a woman who had long since been lying in a cemetery.

"Yeah," Mitch told him quietly and honestly. "I do. I remember her perfectly."

And it was only then that Scott eventually shifted back into his more recognisable self, muscles relaxing and the corner of his mouth tilting upwards into his signature smile. It still didn't quite reach his eyes though, there was still an element of deceptiveness.

Kevin stood up abruptly. "I'm gonna get us another round," he announced.

"I'll come with you," Avi put in, also standing. "Same for you Mitch?"

"Yeah," Mitch nodded, still keeping an eye on the blond man. "Thanks."

It was definitely quiet once the two were gone, if you could count the loud music and chatter as quiet. Scott didn't say anything, just continuing to stare down at his nearly empty beer bottle, the smile now gone from his face again. He looked troubled.

Mitch wasn't usually the best at breaking awkward silences and Scott was still someone he hadn't been able to figure out yet. Nevertheless, he felt he should at least try and be a good colleague and check the guy was alright.

"Are you okay?" he spoke up. "Scott?" he tried again when his words just flew over the blond's head.

"Let's dance," came the simple reply, the other man not looking up even now.

"Huh? Wha–?"

"C'mon." Scott stood up and pulled Mitch with him, leaving no time for refusal or argument.

"What about Avi and Kevin?" Mitch squeaked out in alarm as he was dragged off.

"They'll find us!" Scott had to shout even louder as he took them both to the center of the dance floor, to the beating heart of the crowd.

 _I highly doubt that_. Mitch would find it near impossible locating someone five feet away from him but he found he couldn't argue with the tall man now, not when he suddenly appeared more full of life again, as though he was drawing energy from the dancers around him.

He was all grins and he looked like an idiot as he bounced around and he obviously did not care at all. Laughing as he threw an arm around Mitch's stiff shoulders he teased: "Is that how you party in New York?"

It was a challenge.

Mitch pursed his lips. "No."

"Well then what are you waiting for? Show me how the city slickers do it!" Scott yelled putting both his hands on Mitch's shoulders and jumping up and down behind him, almost as if he were winding the younger man up like an old-fashioned toy.

And somehow, it worked. Whether it was the blond's infectious energy or the fact that the music the DJ was playing was a lot more to Mitch's tastes than the tunes most clubs provided, but soon enough Mitch found himself embracing the night and craziness of it all, relishing in the break it allowed him from reality.

The moment Mitch started to let himself go was the moment that brought an even wider grin to the blond's face, one that only makes him want to enjoy himself even more. The joy is like a shot of adrenaline to his heart and all at once he's moving, one with the music, one with every crazy person dancing in that place. Mitch feels the part of himself that's really him come out to play, to feel the vibe of the music and let his body go free and mingle with strangers beside him. One moment, one brilliant feeling of togetherness suspended in time.

Time passes quicker and slower, the concept almost being lost as more songs are played and more drinks are thrown back. At one point Scott starts a mini rave in the center of the floor, encouraging people to individually show off their dance skills - or lack of - and before long his name his passed around and people are chanting his name, one massive brute of a guy even throws the blond onto his shoulders while everyone shouts and cheers.

"Woo!" Scott cries out to them and they all echo the same response back. "The night is ours!" he shouts before the man holding him loses his balance and they both fall to the floor in a mess of limbs.

Both gain small injuries from that affair, with Scott coming away with a scraped up knuckle, but Mitch suspects, as he watches the blond rejoin the crowd straight away, that by the morning he will not remember where that particular memento came from.

Mitch too, had been having a good time, a great time even, but he had not even drunk half as much as Scott.

"He's off his head!" Mitch looked up as the first familiar face in what feels like forever pulled up next to his. Kevin was gone before Mitch even had a chance to reply, just as "off his head" as Scott was.

All of a sudden, the small man was spun around and he was met by Scott leaning towards him, a light sheen of sweat covering his forehead, probably not all of it his own, and blue eyes wide with adrenaline. Scott leaned even closer, so much that Mitch could see his own reflection in the blond's expanded pupils. "It's nice to see you," he giggled before whispering, "looser," into Mitch's ear.

"Several drinks tends to do that for you," Mitch responded, causing even more giggling.

"You're funny."

"You're very drunk."

Scott's face lit up with pride. "I am very drunk!" he proclaimed, before wrapping his arms around the smaller man's neck, as if they were some lovesick high school couple.

Mitch squirmed slightly under his hold. "What are you doing?" he mumbled, too quiet for the other man to even hear, and instead of wriggling away he found himself subconsciously studying Scott's face in full detail, for it was rare the two were ever so close together, or that he was ever so close to any human being.

His eyes, the ones the color of a newly bloomed bluebell from the valley, enchanting and delicate, were glinting as specks of white light hit the orb and bounced off. Across his nose and cheeks were a light spattering of freckles that Mitch had never noticed before now.

And his lips...his lips were a paler pink in comparison to his, a color reminding Mitch of a rose bud. The top lip was thinner, but not too thin, and it had a natural cupid's bow; the bottom one was larger and more plush. Slightly rougher than Mitch's own, they were still tantalisingly fresh and enticing...

_What are you thinking? Stop staring!_

Since when had he begun he admiring Scott's lips? Scott, of all the people!  _Loud mouthed, cocky, irritating, over-friendly, too generous for his own good, kind-hearted, welcoming..._ shit, that definitely had to be the alcohol talking. He must have been more drunk than he thought.

Scott didn't help matters by leaning forward once more and speaking in hushed tones. "Y'know, you're a very good looking man Mitchy. I thought that when I first saw you and you gave me  _that look_ ," he paused and looked at the smaller man in amusement. "Y-yeah! That one!" he laughed at Mitch's frown.

He leaned in a little closer, their foreheads touching, and dear God, Mitch couldn't fight against the thoughts that were going through him now. Scott's very smell was flooding his senses now, his pale blue eyes the only pair he could look upon. 

"Scott, stop it," he murmured, although he made no attempt to push the blond away.

The man just smirked again, the corner of his lips just parting enough to reveal some dazzling white teeth. "Sometimes you just gotta go with the flow Mitchy," he whispered, breath tickling Mitch's skin.

And then he leaned forward even further, far enough so his lips brushed Mitch's. Innocently to start with, like a tease, but very quickly morphing into hot, fiery and demanding, the full blown effects of a lot of alcohol taking charge. In that moment, Mitch's senses were utterly seduced and he could no longer think straight, his world falling away.

As far as first kisses went, this was one of the better ones. Not because Scott was a better kisser than other guys - well, he definitely wasn't in his drunk state anyway, the kiss slightly sloppy with a scent of Budweiser intermingling with Mitch's own drink - but better because he didn't just use his tongue and lips as his only tools of seduction.

His hand rested below Mitch's ear, his thumb caressing his cheek as their toxic breaths mingled. Mitch found himself drawn towards the blond, as he ran his fingers down his spine, closing the tiny gap until there was no space left between them and he could feel the beating of his heart against his own chest.

Mitch let of a slight moan of pleasure as he could nearly feel the slight burn of the beer as it rolled off Scott's tongue and seeped down his throat with every push of his tongue.

Yeah, it was fair to say Mitch was pretty lost in the moment.

But out of nowhere it was over, as instantaneous as it had begun it was done with, Scott pulling away so quickly that Mitch was left hanging in the air, lost as his unexpected lifeline was suddenly ripped away from him. "What's the time?" the man asked, rubbing at his red eyes.

Blinking rapidly, Mitch glanced down at his watch. "Half two," he breathily replied, senses still not back to normal as he struggled to comprehend what had just occurred between the two of them. "Do you need to be getting back for Fox?" he asked, while in his head he was screaming:  _"Did that really just happen?"_

"Nah," the blond shook his head vigorously, making himself so dizzy that he nearly fell over. "Nah s'fine," he slurred, once he had steadied himself enough to talk again. "He's...staying at someone else's," he informed, waving his hands about in front of him, "friend o'mine."

"Oh," Mitch tilted his head in confusion, surprised at how both of them were picking up the conversation as though they hadn't been kissing a few seconds earlier. "I thought Avi was saying that you had someone there."

The other man let out a bark of a laugh. "Don't listen to 'im. Idiot don't know what he's talking 'bout," Scott ordered, throwing his arm about in an instructive manner but only managing to achieve losing his balance again, nearly crashing into another group.

Mitch dashed forward with more speed then he thought he possessed and tried to steady the tall man. Easier said than done and he probably looked hysterical as he used every inch of his skinny frame to basically prop up the Eiffel Tower.

_What was I thinking? He's so drunk. He probably won't even remember a thing about tonight._

Mitch figured he himself would thoroughly regret getting it on with someone he had to work with nearly every day of the week but alcohol was still currently running through his bloodstream, having a numbing affect on him, allowing him to not stress too much over it. Stressing could be saved for tomorrow morning when he would undoubtedly be hungover and getting ready for another long shift with someone who he'd shared a drunken kiss with the night before.

 _That really did just happen...Oh shit, shit, shit!_  Never mind, it turned out regret was rearing it's ugly little head earlier than anticipated.

In comparison to Mitch, if Scott regretted his actions, he certainly didn't let on; while Mitch's complexion reddened and he tried to look anywhere but at the other man, Scott merely smiled brightly down at the man struggling to hold him up, as if they whole thing was greatly entertaining to him.

The good mood didn't last long though as Mitch felt his body stiffen once more, and looked up to see Scott wearing a face not too dissimilar to his blank one earlier. "Actually I changed my mind," the blond decided in a small voice, a very pathetic tone which worried Mitch he was going to throw up.

 _I can not deal with that. If he goes, I'm gonna go._  Mitch always had been a sympathetic vomiter. It was all part of his charming personality.

So it was decided. "Let's go." Scott made no complaint about Mitch's instruction which was a worry in itself considering how hyped up he'd been minutes ago.

Before they took their leave Mitch did have a brief look around to see if he could spot Avi or Kevin but they were nowhere to be found. It looked like he was going to have to deal with Scott on his own.

Collecting their bags, Mitch asked for the number of a cab and waited outside in the warm night air with a man who decided he could now rap all the lyrics to Eminem's 'Rap God'. In his head Scott probably thought he sounded awesome, but all Mitch was hearing were slurred phrases and shouts with a few emphasised cusses for good measure. With every lyric the younger man wondered more and more why on earth he had ever fallen to the blond's seductive actions.

The words of:  _"You're hot,"_  that had been swirling in his mind during their intimate moment earlier had now morphed back to the rightful:  _"You're so fucking annoying"._

Luckily the cab arrived moderately quickly so Mitch didn't have to resort to violence to maintain his sanity. The journey was a quiet one - for him anyway - seeing as Scott chatted to the cab driver the whole way back, some dumb conversation about some dumb soccer game with some dumb star player that Mitch zoned out of.

After pulling up at Scott's address Mitch paid the driver - courtesy of Danny - and gave him leave to go. He didn't know how long it was going to take to get Scott inside so there was no point in having him wait around; he could just call another cab when he wanted to go himself.

Getting up the front steps was challenging enough as the older man decided, after having talked about the sport for fifteen minutes, that he now wanted to play it outside his house with a large rock he found on the pavement making do as a soccer ball. Only after a lot of shoving and slapping from Mitch did he slowly stumble up the concrete slabs and to his door.

That however was only the first part of the mission complete, as when it became clear that Scott was in no fit state to be using his hands in any dexterous way, Mitch tapped him on the arm a few times to get his attention. "Where are your keys?" he demanded, frustratingly batting away the blond's playful yet clumsy attempts to wrestle with him.

"In my bag," Scott drawled out slowly, before sitting down on the floor and looking like he was deciding to sleep right there.

"Move forward then, you idiot," Mitch told him; Scott's leaning against the small wall making it very hard to actually open his backpack. Managing to get the blond to scoot forward a little bit, Mitch spent a good few minutes rummaging around in his bag trying to locate the keys.  _At least there is one benefit to this exercise_ , he thought to himself. He was finding that dealing with an extremely drunk Scott was actually a great remedy for sobering up himself.

Finding no keys lurking in the backpack, Mitch shook the man's shoulder again. "They're not in here. Are they in your pockets?"

"Oh yeah maybe."

After an awkward body search of every pocket Mitch could find, he was still empty handed. 

"I can't find them," he sighed. "You didn't leave them at the...oh my God, they're in your hand you idiot!" As it turned out, Scott clearly  _wasn't_  empty handed.

"I don't remember putting them there!" Scott laughed, cracking up at his own stupidity as Mitch yanked the keys from his fingers. 

Angrily unlocking the front door, Mitch pushed Scott through first, groaning as the man began undressing the moment he walked through the door, pulling off his shoes and chucking them across the room so they hit the opposite wall before giving the same treatment to his shirt, the white fabric landing in the kitchen somewhere.

Switching the hall light on, Mitch was met with a room vastly different to the one he had left when he visited before. It was a mess. Bits of lego, fragments of fraying string, tiny triangles of multi-colored paper, a bit of cereal and a raisin were what greeted him first, and then in the middle of the room, mainly of the floor, were an assortment of clothes, books, toys and beer cans.  _You wouldn't have thought this place had ever been practically spotless._

"Scott!" Mitch chided as the blond began to undo his belt. "At least wait until you get upstairs!" Scott ignored him and threw the leather garment onto the floor to join it's friends.

The younger man glowered in frustration.  _Jeez, I hate drunk people._

Speaking of upstairs, from the floor above Mitch swore he could here light thuds, like footsteps on the wooden boards. It sounded like they had company.

"I thought you said there was no one here," Mitch pointed out. There was no reply. "Scott?" He glanced back to find the blond man passed out on the couch, half undressed with his mouth hanging slightly open. "Oh for God's sake!" Mitch huffed, before jumping as more sounds echoed throughout the house, seemingly a lot closer now.

Mitch's eyes darted about.  _Are there giant rats or something?_

"Daddy?" He froze as a tiny, uncertain voice called out to him from the darkness, heart beating hard in his chest as he heard a few more thuds on the stairs and Fox lumbered down; the little boy still fully clothed, showing no signs that he'd been in bed.

Mitch looked back to the man on the couch, still oblivious to the world, and then back to the little boy who was clutching at a stuffed dog. He felt his blood begin to boil as he realised what had happened.  _You fucker. He's just been left here. On his own._

As Fox came into view, prosthetic currently being worn, Mitch saw the boy rub at his eyes tiredly as he squinted at the two men in the living room. "Daddy is that you?" he questioned, a slight quiver in his voice. For a brief moment, the worst part of Mitch wanted to run out the door and leave this situation far behind, but then the four year old's gaze caught sight of the familiar man and a small smile graced his lips, an expression of relief appearing on his face.

Mitch gulped. He didn't really have a choice now.

_Well, shit._


	12. Please Don't Go

Anger boiled up inside of him like molten rock, lava about to erupt from a volcano, burning and incontrollable. Mitch didn't know if he was angrier with Scott, for his behaviour and lies, or with himself, for allowing the man to deceive him so easily. Anger such as this was not a feeling he was much used to, but the whole situation, it was just all so fucked up.

_I'd just started to think there was more to you, that perhaps you weren't like every other guy I've known. I thought..._

"It's you!"

At the cry of joy, Mitch released some of the tension building in his hardened white knuckles and attempted something similar to what he hoped was a friendly smile. The little boy toddled over to him, lugging a well worn blue rabbit by it's hole filled ear. He gave a big smile as Mitch crouched down to his level and tapped the man's shoulder excitedly, as if he didn't already have his full attention.

"You said you'd come back!" he giggled despite the strange circumstances, blue eyes blinking heavily under long lashes, obviously extremely tired but alert all the same.

Mitch's smile widened. It was easy to feel happier around this kid, he was kind of like his father in that way, except without all the bad shit.

"Yeah," he gave the boy's messy hair a ruffle. "Yeah I came back Fox."

 _How could someone leave you on your own?_  And for what? There hadn't been an emergency or any extenuating circumstances; it had been going for drinks with friends. Mitch felt guilty, like he was partly to blame despite having no control or even knowledge up to this point of what going to a bar would mean for this boy.

Mitch had also thought he sounded perfectly sober, or at least compared to Scott he was, but obviously not enough for Fox to not pick up on the fact he definitely hadn't been a few hours ago; the little boy tilting his head quizzically and his nose crinkling slightly. "You had the dizzy drink too?" he asked, pitch raising at the end to an almost squeak in question.

"Just a little," Mitch admitted, not sure if he was in the right to or not, but there had been enough lies that night and the last person he wanted to lie to was this four year old who appeared to have placed so much trust in him for some reason.

Fox didn't seem perturbed by this information anyway and just nodded his head with a small smile playing on his lips. "Not as much as Daddy, right?" The question was rhetorical as they both turned to the blond man lying on the couch, passed out to all the world, rough snores emitted every so often. "He always has too much," the boy said with a sigh, sounding so much older than his years.

Dragging his eyes away from his sleeping father, he looked to Mitch, waiting for him to say something. As it happened Mitch did have a question or two he wanted to throw his way. "Is it just you here?" he whispered, wanting to check and hoping he'd been wrong, even though he already knew the answer.

"Yep." Fox replied, confirming his fears, the boy himself not looking in the slightest bit stressed, at least not now Mitch was here.

"You've been on your own  _all night_?"

Another nod of the head. "Yep." Fox was looking like he wasn't quite sure why the man in front of him was so concerned.

"What about um...this lady?" Mitch inquired. "I thought someone came and stayed with you?" Had that all been a made up tale by Scott? One meant to purposely keep not just Mitch, but Avi and Kevin also in the dark.

"Uhh," the boy paused in thought, brow lowering as he tried to remember. "Well she did but then she and Daddy got cross with each other," he explained with a shrug and a lazy, lopsided grin. "And she just don't come no more."

 _God, he looked so much like his dad just then_. That same easy-going nature matched with the charming, natural good looks. Mitch had to bite his tongue to stop himself from swearing a blue streak, the weight of what he had got himself mixed up in, with both Scott and his son, setting in. The old Mitch would have left by now, or would be about to; this wasn't his mess, he wasn't anybody important to these people and they weren't to him, he could leave and just pick things up the next day like they were before, without a thought about what had occurred this night.

"You okay?"

Ha gazed into the little boy's earnest, worried face and reached out to brush a few silky locks of hair from his forehead. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine Fox," he told him quietly.  _I can't leave._  Like it or not, this was not his old life, he could not behave in the same way he once would have. If he walked away now he would never forgive himself. Not because of Scott, but because of the boy before him.

Fox tapped him again, anxious by his lack of response. "If you need the bathroom it's upstairs," the boy tried to offer some assistance. "Daddy's been sick down here before and that puts him in a bad mood in the morning."

"No I'm okay, don't worry," Mitch assured him.

Both their attentions were grabbed suddenly from movement beside them.

"Daddy's waking up," Fox whispered, eyes wide as the man groaned and fumbled about on the couch. "Should we be quiet?" he asked Mitch.

Mitch narrowed his eyes at the figure, every emotion from earlier bubbling up, and that included the brief and stupid moment he'd felt... _attraction towards him?_  Only that once held feeling of understanding and affection was stamped into the dirt even more drastically by this turn in events, like he was upset with himself for ever harbouring those thoughts towards the blond. _I knew there was a reason I never drink in excess._  He couldn't trust himself to behave appropriately.

Restrain left behind for now, Mitch's fists tightened again. "No." He marched over to a still very out of it Scott and used every bit of strength he possessed to grab the man by the bicep, hissing: "Get up!" as he tried to pull him to his feet.

It half worked, he managed to get the man to at least sit up straight-ish and vaguely aware that there was a smaller but very frustrated man in front of him.

"Mhmm," Scott incoherently mumbled, eyes still half shut.

"Wake up you fucker," Mitch gave the blond a rough shake, wanting so badly to do more than that, but well aware it would not go down very well with their one audience member. "Forget about someone?" he asked in a tight voice, teeth gritted so tight he probably resembled something of a snarling dog, forcing Scott to look towards his son the moment his bleary eyes began to focus.

A glimmer of surprise shot through Scott's eyes as he caught a glance at the child staring over at him and Mitch, eyes wide like he was watching an intense part in one of his favourite TV shows. "Foxy...what are you doing up?" the blond slurred, rubbing a hand across his face, before resting his head in his hands.

"I-I was waiting for you..." Fox stuttered. "There were scary shadows and I tried just shutting my eyes like you always tell me to but then they started laughing and whispering so I went to your room and watched Netflix instead," the little boy blurted out all at once, lowering his head apologetically. "I'm sorry."

Scott just kept his head in his hands and Mitch was left dumbfounded. Even drunk, surely Scott could see how upset his son was? Mitch had been hoping that once he'd drawn attention to the boy Scott would slip into dad-mode or something, and behave like a good dad would. But instead he barely recognised the man now, who was rising hesitantly from his seat and rubbing at his red eyes.

"Just got to bed Fox," was all he had to say, "I'll catch ya in the morning."

Crestfallen would be an understatement to describe the expression on Fox's face, but rather than crying or throwing a tantrum he sucked in any upset he possessed and did as he was instructed. "'Kay." He turned with only a slight quiver on his lips and made his way back to the stairs, dragging the blue rabbit with him, without a glance back to Mitch.

Mitch on the other hand was in too much of a state of shock to call after the boy, body and tongue temporarily frozen until a series of ungraceful motions in front of him flipped his brain back to reality.

"Hold the fuck up," he snatched onto Scott's arm as the tall man went to lumber past him.

"Get off me Mitch," the man snarled, retracting his arm ferociously and spinning back around with a warning glare. For a brief moment, Mitch worried that he was about to receive a punch in the face. If he wanted to Scott could knock him flat on his ass with one swipe of his fist but the urge to gleam answers overpowered his natural flight rather than fight instinct.

"No," he said firmly, matching Scott's death glare with his own. "You owe me an explanation here," he insisted, pointing to the stairs Fox had disappeared up. "Why the hell was he on his own?"

Even with his display of bravery, it had little affect, perhaps the only noticeable reaction was for Scott to shut him out further. "Just...stay out of my business," the blond cautioned, pushing past the smaller man and stumbling away, only to have to pause at the corner of the wall to steady himself, a sorry image compared to the man Mitch had first been introduced to. The man Mitch had  _kissed..._

Moving towards him again, throwing his arms up in frustration; "You've made it my business," he pointed out angrily, subconsciously rising onto his tiptoes in order to give him a bit more authority. " _You_  invited me over and  _you_  invited me out and  _you_  promised to me that Fox– where do you think you're going?" he snapped as the man once more simply ignored all his reprimands and staggered off.

"Bed," Scott called out tiredly. "You should too."

Mitch was having none of it. "Don't you dare walk away from me," he warned, briskly closing the gap between them and reaching out for Scott's arm again; only this time, Scott did fight back. 

Yanking his arm away so fast that he almost sent Mitch sprawling across the floor he raised his hands like he was prepared for a fight, blue eyes wild. "I"m FUCKING TIRED!" he roared, tone so harsh and out of character, it was like the blond's persona had been switched with his hidden alter ego. He was frightening. Mitch was scared by the raw anger in his words and stepped back, heart beating rapidly while Scott stared him down.

Mitch was afraid that was just the start, that he was going to be faced against a very angry and drunk man in a full on screaming match, but as quickly as it had risen, the anger in Scott's eyes died down. Like an inferno, burning so hot that it couldn't last for long, the ferocity dissipated, leaving in it's wake just a pair of exhausted eyes that gazed blankly at him.

"Just go home," Scott murmured, turning slowly away and continuing to the stairs. "I'll call you," he said, before also making his way up. He didn't look back and Mitch was left in silence.

Left only with the faint thudding sounds from upstairs and the thumping of his heart, the young man needed time alone to try and come to terms with everything that had just happened. He just didn't understand. What had changed? What had caused Scott to turn into someone Mitch barely recognised? Was he really just a very bad drunk? Did Kevin and Avi have any clue about this apparent argument between Scott and the lady who used to look after Fox?

So many questions and Mitch knew he wasn't going to get any answers that night. He might as well go, with both of them in bed now and besides, it wouldn't be long until he would have to leave for work again.

_Ugh, that is not going to be fun._

However just before he want to leave, another instinct tugged at his limbs, almost forcing him to move towards the stairs. _I shouldn't really..._ The boy was probably asleep by now, although really Mitch knew that was highly unlikely.  _What are you doing?_  His mind screamed at his body, while his heart urged him to go and check on Fox. He wasn't the right guy for this. But then again, there was no one else here...

At that moment he was reminded of many lonely nights he had spent in that so very big house of his back in New York, nights spent as a young boy waiting for his father to get home from work. There had been someone there at all times to make sure he was okay, but it wasn't the same. When he had been really young, only slightly older than Fox, there were no amount of comforting words from strangers that could replace his dad. That had been a long time ago...

If he could offer just a shred of comfort to the young boy - a boy he had grown to have affection for and who was the first kid who didn't immediately shy away from him - he would.

Quietly making his way up the wooden stairs and tapping gently on the door before pushing it open, he made sure he projected an image of calmness and reassurance to the little boy. "Hello," he smiled softly as the tiny head poked out from under the duvet and gave him gap-toothed grin, very clearly not asleep yet.  _Huh, he's lost both of his top teeth._  Mitch hadn't noticed earlier but it was pretty clear now with the pink tongue sticking out through the gap as he came and perched on the edge of the bed.

The room looked pretty much the same as it had when Mitch had been embarking on a search for treasure, except maybe a bit tidier, the toys either in the plastic boxes to one side or swept under the bed. The walls were dark now though, any posters or photos shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the dimly shining lamp casting a soft, warm glow over the boy's head and the photo Mitch had spied before of the woman he assumed to be Fox's mom, sitting in pride of place on the table right next to the pillow, so that if the boy were to turn in the night he would be met with her smiling face. 

"I'm off now," he said, fiddling with the hem of the pajamas the boy had changed into. "You gonna be okay?" he questioned gently.

The boy nodded, smile faltering a little, as he sunk back down to the pillow. Mitch could see two blue ears sticking out from under the covers, a permanent source of love and safety for the child. 

"You need anything?" he checked. He remembered whenever he used to have nightmares, back when he'd been Fox's age, his mom would always give him a glass of warm milk. Then again, Mitch wondered if the house actually contained anything other than alcohol, that was the only beverage he had ever seen during his time there.

Fox just shook his head anyway, pulling the covers up higher so they nearly reached his nose and the two ear tips disappeared. Now faced with only a pair of baby blue eyes and mussed up hair, the boy appeared even more sorrowful, blue eyes calling to him, sending a signal he couldn't quite decipher. He didn't look like he was going to fall asleep any time soon and Mitch felt he had to say something...something that might help the kid sleep easier. Just because his father wanted to stay up all night didn't mean Fox should.

"Don't worry. Your daddy's gonna be fine in the morning..." he whispered, running a hand through the boy's fringe. "Dizzy drink tends to make people act different," he said with a small smile.

"I know."

It wasn't even said in a typical "I know it all" way; the boy was simply stating a fact, he knew all too well what drunk people acted like.  _I wonder how many times he's had to see his Daddy like this?_

"Alright then," Mitch said, tucking the duvet tighter around the boy, like a quilted embrace. "I promise I'll come round tomorrow to see you." That was a promise he was most definitely going to keep. He would break down the door if he had to, he was going to make sure Fox was okay. It didn't matter that the four year old seemed fairly used to this kind of situation; Mitch certainly wasn't so things were going to happen his way.

He stood up and made movements to leave but, at the last second, the same instinct from earlier drew him back and he leaned down to place a tender kiss on the young boy's forehead, surprising himself; it was a totally unnatural action from him and yet, on the other hand, it felt completely natural. Trying his best now to ignore the staring baby blues, he rose again and finally started to make tracks.

But then...

"Mitchy?"

It was a quiet whimper, muffled also, but impossible to miss all the same.

He crouched back down, gazing into Fox's innocent azure orbs. "Yeah?"

The boy was in deliberation with himself for a few moments, eventually simply saying: "Can you stay?" The request was so hopeful and the added little: "Please?" mixed with the widening of the eyes and a hand being raised so the tiny nails could be bitten at in anxiousness was Mitch's downfall. "The shadows don't come near if...if there's somebody else here."

And there it was, the boy had him; hook, line and sinker.

"Okay then," Mitch agreed, knowing that after this there was no going back. That the connection he was forming with this boy, one like he'd never had before, meant that things were going to get messy in the future, he could sense it.

The reaction was instantaneous. Fox beamed at him, dimples appearing in the exact same spot as his father's. "You have to go under the covers or it won't work," he insisted.

Mitch chuckled lightly but complied, kicking his shoes and jacket off before sliding into the bed. "Is that alright?" He probably smelt of alcohol and sweat but Fox didn't seem to mind.

"Yeah," the young boy confirmed, wriggling closer to the wall so Mitch had more room, the nameless blue rabbit lying between them, before reaching a hand under his pillow and bringing out a small, red, plastic phone, and proceeded to dial in a number and hold it to his ear.

Mitch gave him a half smile and raised one eyebrow in confusion. "What are you doing Fox?" he asked, not out of frustration but in genuine curiosity.

"I've got to call God."

Well, he had not been expecting that.

" _Call him_?" Mitch wondered aloud.

"Yeah, Daddy always let's me speak to him before I go to sleep."

"You–" He stopped himself. Who was he to tell the boy that God probably wasn't on speed dial? He wondered who had started this, the boy or his dad. He thought either was equally possible.

"Hello God, it's me Fox," the young boy spoke politely after a few seconds when he was presumably waiting for the phone to be "picked up". "How has your day been?" he asked, nodding seriously at the answer before informing Mitch. "He says he's been helping children in Africa."

"Nice one." Mitch smiled. "How do you know you're talking to a man?" He couldn't help it, questioning a child's beliefs, and it was what usually alienated him to them; like when he'd question his old work colleagues twin boys why it wasn't acceptable for them to wear dresses.

Fox wasn't like those kids though, as proved when the boy opened his mouth, as if to reply with a stock answer such as "of course he is", but then halting as he considered Mitch's query carefully. "Oh...I don't know..." He shrugged after an internal deliberation. "He sounds like a dude to me but I think he sounds different to everybody. Like, if you were a dog he would sound like barks." He returned to his conversation hastily, as if the person on the other end was complaining about being left hanging. "Yes sorry I'm still here, I was just talking to my new friend."

"Say hi from me."

"He says hi, his name's Mitchy." Fox paused before smiling at the man next to him. "He says hi back."

Mitch leaned back against the head board, just watching with a smirk as the young boy continued with his late night chattering, purposefully trying to keep his mind from wandering to thoughts about the man sleeping just a room away.

 _I wonder if he actually made it onto his bed?_  Not like he cared.

"I need to tell you today that I'm thankful that Daddy got home and Mitchy is making sure no shadow monsters get me. Also my new leg is almost perfect and I nearly scored a goal at soccer practice today so thank you for all that too," Fox carried on, adding: "Tell Mommy I love her very much and um...and you have to give her a big kiss."

Mitch's smile dropped. There it was. He'd kind of already figured it out, but hearing it from Fox's mouth made all that more real. He glanced to the photo frame beside him, of a young woman, a beautiful teenaged girl, smiling like all she would ever need in the world was the baby boy in her arms, a ghost from the past watching over the two of them.

 _I'm sorry you lost each other_ , he thought sadly. _And I'm sorry that you ended up with an asshole of a dad._

Fox looked at him, smile wide. "She says she loves me too," he informed Mitch, tilting his head while he was told something else. "And your mom says she's loves you," he added sincerely.

One time when Mitch was playing with friends in the school yard, running along a thin brick wall about seven feet tall, one of the bigger kids had pushed him and he'd fallen to the ground, landing on his back. Back then it was as if the impact had knocked every wisp of air from his lungs, and he had laid there struggling to inhale, to exhale, to do anything. That's how he felt now, trying to remember how to breathe, unable to speak, totally stunned as the words bounced around inside his skull.

 _How can he know?_  He'd never told him, heck he'd only told Scott tonight!

Fox, oblivious to the affect his words had, held out the phone to Mitch. "Do you want to speak to him?"

"No," Mitch whispered. "I'm good." It was just him misunderstanding Fox's words; the little boy was most likely just saying what he thought was a nice thing to say. Scott had raised him well in that respect. He was just tired, it was causing him to overthink and overreact.

"Okay thank you for listening to me," the boy wound up his conversation. "Goodnight and amen," he said, followed with the press of a button, slipping the phone back under his pillow and a yawn. "Now we can go to sleep," he let Mitch know, although not before he had another idea and rolled over, grabbing a fluffy white dog previously squashed down the side of the bed. "You can have him," he told Mitch, handing the dog over as he collected the rabbit and hugged it to his chest.

"Thank you," Mitch replied in a hushed tone, stroking a thumb over the soft fabric.

"Night Mitchy," Fox murmured, finally shutting his eyes.

Mitch watched him for a moment, the boy peaceful and happy, like he had wanted. He figured he could slip out fairly easily once the boy was asleep, he still had time to put some distance between himself and the situation, he had still had time to run... _No._

That was who he used to be. He'd done enough running. He was tired. No, really, he was tired and right now he was in a comfy bed. When it came down to the wire it was a no brainer.

He shut his eyes.

"Night Fox."


	13. History

His dreams are troublesome that night. Everything is dark grey or black, shadows swirl around him, some whispering, some just projecting images or emotions towards him. He wanders the endless expanse, lost in a dark forest of memories kept locked away during his waking hours. He hears laughter, young and carefree, echoing from nearby and getting closer by the second.

A light bulb switches on above him, and he looks up to examine it. It is familiar but he can't quite say how. When he looks back down however, his memory is jogged. He is in his mom's old study, the small room in the attic which looked out over the street below. The dark greys and blacks have been replaced with the white's of the walls, an easel sits by the window, a painting half completed etched onto the canvas. And there, sitting in front of it, the sunlight basking onto her figure, was his mom.

She's not facing him, instead focusing carefully on the stroke of her paintbrush, and he finds himself enraptured with the graceful way her arm lilts up and down, working magic out of thin air.

There is the same childish laughter again and a small boy with dark brown hair and eyes runs in. He watches with mild curiosity and sadness as this nearly five year old version of himself bounds over to his mother, fringe flopping backwards as he gazes up at her, face also glowing in the warm sunlight.

His mother smiles down at him, eyes like his crinkled in the corners, saying not a word as she picks him up, all the love shining out of those eyes and through her beaming smile.

He remembers. He knows what is going to happen next and sure enough the dream stays true to the memory. In his excitement, the little boy throws an arm out in excitement, knocking over the pallet and sending an assortment of colors spilling over both him and his mom. Reds, greens, yellows, blues seeping into clothing and staining skin. There is a moment where his young face is frozen, looking up to the woman with big eyes, worried he is going to be told off for his mistake.

But there is no anger in his mom's face, there never was. Instead her cheeks turn bright pink, tears forming in the corner of her eyes, body convulsing as she broke down in joyous laughter. The little boy joins in, perhaps even more elated due to his previous fear; squeals of childlike bliss as his mom wipes her hands on her clothes where the paint has spilled before smearing them on his face. Not one to back down from a challenge, even back then, the youngster instantly retaliates and before either of them know it, a full on paint war is initiated.

The young man watches this scene, an uncontrollable smile gracing his lips. The memory is so clear to him, it may as well have occurred the other week. How he loved those days when he simply talked, laughed and made silly jokes. Those were the days he longed for, ones where he enjoyed every single minute.

The memory is fading away, the dream shifting and evolving, his surroundings darkening again. He tries to reach out to his mother, tries to stop her from disappearing, but true to life there is nothing he can do, and she is gone along with his laughter.

The next scene that materialises before him is one he would rather not revisit again. He tries to turn away but wherever he looks it is there again. An image of that same tiny boy sat on a too large chair, his feet dangling off the edge, head down to his lap where he plays with a small stuffed cat. Footsteps thud down the hallway, his father's own, and the boy raises his head to the stooped figure walking towards him.

The young man is too far away to hear what is being said in this memory, maybe because his mind itself is too fuzzy and blurred to know exactly how the conversation went. He hears the scream though. The scream of pure agony as the young boy puts up a fight and tries to push past the man's attempting arms of comfort. He escapes and charges down the hallway, heading right for his older counterpart, who doesn't have time to move as the child breezes by - or through - him.

It hurts somehow. A pain in his chest like all those emotions that boy was feeling are passed onto him and he spins, half out of shock from the sudden injection of utter agony and loss and half from wanting to follow the boy, to go after and comfort him, even though he knows that boy is him and no one ever did.

The scene has moved on again however and he finds himself facing a thick wooden door, this time standing side by side with his young version. He remembers this door very well and waits, knowing what is going to come next.

Young him knocks on the door, quietly tapping to start with.  _"Daddy?"_

There is no answer.

The boy tries again, knocking a bit louder this time.  _"Daddy?"_

It has only been a matter of weeks since his mother was cruelly taken from him and both child and husband are grieving. He's most likely just had a nightmare and wants comforting. His father was most likely awake but was too upset himself, locking himself up in his room for weeks until he finally emerged, skin toughened, tongue sharpened and eyes hardened, and the child would learn the man was not someone you went to for comfort any more.

At the moment though, the boy doesn't realize that, he just wants a hug.

 _"Daddy!"_  His cries are more urgent now.

The young man shuts his eyes, wishing he could burst through the door and shake the man from his self-pity and push him towards his son.

_"Daddy!"_

He attempts to slam his own fist against the door but nothing happens and his arm just falls through thin air.

_"Daddy!"_

_"Daddy!"_

_"Daddy! Stop!"_

_Daddy stop?_

Mitch opened his eyes so quickly that he was periodically blinded by the bright sunlight streaming through the window pane. It took him a few seconds to recall where he was. His mouth was dry, a bad taste coating the inside a reminder of the night before. Aside from his own noisy breath there was nothing to be heard except the odd car driving past, the occasional dog bark and the raucous coming from downstairs.

Screams of laughter, both child and adult, were bouncing up the walls to where Mitch had been sleeping. Fox's bed looked a lot smaller than it had last night and he worried if he had rolled over and squashed the child during his slumber.

Swinging his legs out from under the covers, he wrinkled his nose at the creased state of his clothing and the way his skin felt when it was due a good shower. He risked a glance at the clock and groaned as the time of twenty past six ticked away in front of him.

_That was not enough sleep._

He should not have been up for at least another hour if he wanted to remain sane that day. More laughter rang up from below, increasing Mitch's heart rate as he recalled what had brought him here in the first place.

He really didn't want to head downstairs.

 _You have to_ , he told himself.  _You have to confront him._

Building up his courage, he staggered up and towards the door, envisioning in his mind how this dreaded conversation was going to play out. 

"I'm the syrup monster! Raaa!"

"Stop!" Fox's contagious giggles was music to his ears and he stepped down the last few stairs to where the two occupants of the house were stood in the middle of the kitchen "Daddy stop!"

Scott met his cool gaze with a big smile, one good enough to convince most people he was as chirpy as ever, but Mitch could see straight through it.

_It doesn't meet his eyes...he almost looks...scared?_

"Ah, sleeping beauty is finally awake I see," he commented, turning swiftly away from Mitch's hard stare to the waffles grilling on the pan, whistling a little tune that aggravated the younger man more than anything.

_Don't you dare ignore what happened last night. Don't you dare act like nothing happened._

"Mitchy!" Fox bounded towards him the moment he spotted his new friend, prosthetic limb tapping extra loudly on the wooden floor. "We made breakfast for you!" he exclaimed happily. He for one looked like he was not at all affected by last night but Mitch couldn't get the image of the scared little boy afraid of shadows out of his mind. Maybe now wasn't the best time to confront Scott on the topic though, he realised, not with Fox standing by.

He crouched down and gave the boy a big grin. "I can see." He glanced back up to Scott who was still focused on the food and lowered his voice to a whisper. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yep," the boy smiled brightly, jumping up and down as he watched his father placing the food onto the three plates. "Waffles are the best!"

Scott smirked. "You want bananas or strawberries or both Foxy boy?"

"Uh..." the four year old contemplated his choices seriously before sticking one finger in the air like he'd just discovered the meaning of life. "Just 'nanas please," he responded.

The blond nodded. "Your wish is my command young prince," he gushed, slicing up a banana before coating it in syrup, performing a juggling act with the bottle as he went.

The boy grinned wildly as his plate was handed to him, screeching incomprehensibly and doing a weird little dance only very young children know. Looking back up he laughed, pointing up at Scott's face. "You've got syrup in your hair!"

The man's mouth formed an 'o' shape as he brought his hand up to his head, feeling around until he felt the sticky patch just above his left ear. "Yeah? Hadn't you heard?" He queried nonchalantly with a shrug of his shoulders. "Scientists are saying it's ten times better than conditioner."

Fox narrowed his eyes at this statement, cautiously studying his father's face as he tried to work out if he was being had for a fool. "No they're not," he finally decided, sticking out his chin in defiance.

Scott mirrored his pose, folding his arms for extra effect. "Are too," he shot back.

"Are not."

"Are too."

"Are not!"

"Are too!"

"Can I eat on the couch?" Fox suddenly flipped his words about just as Mitch was going to scream at them both to shut up. The boy gave his father a wry smirk as he slowly backed away into the other room, obviously not normally allowed to eat his breakfast there.

Scott paused and gave Mitch a glance, his blue eyes suddenly filled with apprehension again, before giving his son the go ahead. "Go on then, you can take it in the living room. Just try not to make too much mess."

The boy abruptly turned and scampered away. "'Kay," he called out. Mitch wondered if the boy had a feeling things were about to turn slightly sour between the two adults.

They stood in awkward silence, Scott waiting until he heard the TV being switched on before he slowly sat down, anxiously sliding Mitch's plate towards him. "I hope that's okay for you," he said, gesturing down at the waffles.

Honestly it wasn't Mitch's first choice of breakfast but he perched on the stool and picked up a fork all the same, beginning to pick at it, his own eyes now firmly averted from the other man's.

More silence followed as Mitch forced his mouth to chew and swallow as angrily as he could, if that were even possible. He wanted to make sure Scott was left squirming before he dealt with him. "Don't suppose you know where this came from?" the man tried to initiate a conversation, and Mitch briefly glanced up to see him holding up the hand he had grazed the previous night, the skin now fully healed over but still fresh enough to look painful.

He looked back down and shook his head, rolling his eyes and not caring whether Scott saw it or not.

 _If he doesn't remember getting that I doubt he's gonna remember anything else_. For some reason that hurt Mitch more than it should have.  _It meant nothing. It was never going to mean anything anyway._

They continued to sit knee deep in silence, the faucet dripping into the sink, each droplet reverberating around the room like a cymbal, yet neither looked or made any move to stop it.

Mitch was used to long periods of silence, having grown used to many of them during dinner's with his father or tense client meetings, but Scott was not as well trained, and he could only hold off for so long.

"Okay this is really awkward so I'll just come out and say it..." he blurted out quickly, biting nervously at his lower lip. He waited until Mitch raised cold eyes to meet his, leaning forward on the counter. "I'm so  _fucking sorry_  Mitchy," he apologised right off the bat, face one of such absolute devastation that it caught the younger man off guard for a moment. He hadn't been expecting this. What he had been expecting were more excuses or possibly even anger that Mitch had slept in his own son's fucking bed, but no, he had not been ready for a Scott who looked like he was about to break down in tears at any second.

_No, don't focus on him now. Think about last night, think about the man he was last night._

"Look," the blond continued, leaning even further forward so his head was for once at a lower height than Mitch's. "You have every right to shout at me and hate me and never want to see me again," he fretted, entwining his fingers together. "But you see..." he stopped and tore his gaze away, muttering lowly to himself. "Ahh stop making excuses Scott, you fucking idiot."

Mitch had no time for this and decided he could break his silence now.

"Why did you lie?" he demanded to know. "Why have you been lying to everyone?"

"I dunno," Scott said defeatedly, giving Mitch an aggravating half smile. "It's in my nature?"

The younger man raised his eyebrows, pushing his half empty plate away. "That's the answer you're giving me?"

"I..." Scott glanced up at the ceiling, looking like he was hoping for inspiration. "You see..." He faced the other direction and hit is palm against the counter top a few times, psyching himself up, before whispering: "There's a lot of stuff going on in my life, stuff that makes me..." he shuddered faintly despite it not being at all cold. "Someone who I don't like very much," he finished.

Mitch felt his anger go down slightly, only by a minute fraction though. He could understand a thing or two about becoming somebody you were disappointed in.

_I have my demons. What are yours? Or are you just an asshole?_

"What? So you go out and get hammered just because of "stuff"?" He questioned angrily, although he kept his voice down in order to not disturb a certain somebody. "You wouldn't have noticed because you were too busy being passed out on the couch, but he was so upset last night, the way you spoke to him was disgusting."

"Mhmm." Scott nodded and placed his head in his hands. "Thank you," he murmured. "For staying with him last night. You didn't have to."

"Yeah, I did actually," Mitch countered in disbelief. "I'm not good with kids, but even I know the difference between right and wrong."

Scott was silent as he took in what Mitch was saying, nodding again seriously after the younger man had said his peace. "Between a good and a bad parent," he clarified, to himself more than anyone.

Mitch tilted his head. "I didn't say that," he pointed out.

"But you were thinking it."

"Don't turn this around onto me," Mitch warned.

The blond lifted his head from his hands, blinking rapidly as he took in the smaller man's authoritative posture.

"You're right," he admitted. "Sorry."

Mitch almost felt like a school principal berating his unruly student, sighing as he explained: "I don't know what to do here Scott."

The other man was immediately on guard, defensives rising like a call to battle.

"Do? Y-you don't have to do anything!" His eyes were wild with worry, fingers gripping tightly round the edge of the counter. Mitch instinctively shifted back in his seat. He'd seen what the guy could get like when things weren't going his way and wasn't going to take any chances. "I-It was a one off, it won't happen again," Scott stuttered, almost left out of breath after two sentences.

"I heard from Fox's own mouth last night," Mitch hissed. ""He always drinks too much". Quit with your lying."

"But I don't mean to, really," Scott insisted, tone barely stronger than a whimper. "I never mean to leave him again it's just...the opportunity to forget about everything once in a while, it's so hard to resist."

"You can't forget about your son, just erase him whenever you feel like it. Trust me, the kid's not going to grow up right, you don't know what sort of stuff you're passing onto him that will be reflected in adulthood." He was speaking from the heart here, he knew exactly from first hand experience who ignored kids could grow up into.

The blond chuckled softly. "You sound like Kirstie."

_Well I like her then. Maybe we should hang out._

Talking of Kirstie, it was high time he got answers on that too. No more cautious side stepping around the subject. "Oh yeah," he began. "That's another mystery...who is she? Don't lie," he said quickly before Scott could open his mouth. "Either tell me the truth or nothing at all. I'm serious."

"No of course, you uh...you have a right to know Mitchy."

_It's Mitch._

...

"Scott?" It seemed he was going to have to drag the answer out of the man as he played around with his left over food.

The man inhaled deeply, eventually spitting out the truth. "She's...a social worker...kinda, she's technically still a trainee but we go back a way so she visits a lot on her own." He raised his head and frowned. "I think they're hoping she's gonna persuade me to give it up, they just want to take him away from me."

Mitch found himself being able to relax ever so slightly now. At least there were other's who knew Scott wasn't as perfect as he made out. Hopefully they would make sure this was sorted out. Kirstie seemed like she had a good head on her shoulders, the brief time he'd met her, maybe she could make Scott see sense, see that he wasn't the right person to be raising Fox, at least not on his own.

"That's not what they're meant for," he disagreed, referring to Scott's adamance that they were just there to steal his son from him.

"Yeah, well it sure feels like it sometimes," the blond moaned, reminding Mitch once more of the "sulky teenager" act he had performed when Kirstie had come round to speak to him.

"I'm sure they want what's best for Fox." He resisted the urge to stick an "unlike you" afterwards.

"With me," Scott replied stubbornly. "That talk we had when you first met her, she was trying to get me to agree for respite, when you have a stranger look after them for short periods of time."

The older man looked horrified just by the very thought of that and Mitch was really struggling to rack his brains as to why he was so against the idea. Sure, it couldn't be a pleasant feeling to admit you couldn't take care of your own child but if Scott loved Fox as much as he claimed, why was he not prepared to accept help?

He put the question to the man. "What's so wrong with that? If he was with someone else, you get to party the night away to your heart's content."

"You don't get it," Scott muttered. "It would start off as that and then when it goes to court and the judge'll say that I obviously don't care enough and then he'll be taken away for good. I can't lose him too." The man started up with his murmurings again, almost too quiet for Mitch to hear this time. "Too much, too much is already gone."

This conversation was starting to stress Mitch out. He'd been ready and somewhat prepared to face a man who wanted to listen to nothing he had to say and while that was kind of happening, he could also sense that Scott was asking for help, that he wanted Mitch to somehow make everything better, like he could just stick a band-aid over the whole situation.

Mitch almost pitied him for a second but then Fox's laughter from the other room brought him back to reality. This wasn't the person who needed his sympathy.

"What about family?" he carried on trying to fish for others who could take better care of the four year old. "You said they don't live too far away, and you've got sisters right? Ask them for a little help. There's no shame in it if that's what you're thinking."

He stopped and for the first time gave Scott a concerned look. As he had been speaking he had noticed a faraway expression in the blond's blue eyes, and it had shocked him. It was another type of pain, a type of emotional pain that only left invisible scars and it had shone brightest in Scott while Mitch spoke of his family. Usually it was the type of pain that only the person feeling it can tell is there, at the back of their mind like a pulse or other times pushing itself forward demanding attention. But Mitch had recognised it, recognised a pain not too unlike his own, and all of a sudden he found he could no longer despise the other quite as much.

Scott himself stared at him, breathing shallow, looking like he had so much to let out but trying desperately to conceal it at the same time. When he did speak, it was possibly the most emotionless voice a person was capable of conjuring up. "That is not a viable course of action."

 _There he goes again, and I'm supposed to be the ex-business guy here._ They perhaps also sounded like the truest words Scott had ever spoken to him.

"Well...someone.  _Anyone_." Mitch felt like he was on the losing side of the argument now, his demands sounding more like pleas. "What about that lady who was supposedly here last night?"

"We didn't quite see eye to eye on certain things." 'Things'. So much meaning behind such a general and bland word.

"Well you clearly can't do it on your own!" he exclaimed, frustration over-flowing.

"Look, I promise I'm telling you the truth when I say this, me leaving him by himself, has only happened once...er twice before." Scott was fully on the defensive now, engaging every bit of charm he possessed to dissuade the younger man from taking any serious action. "I mean yeah, I've stayed out late loads of times and had Sarah stay round to keep an eye on him, but we recently had a major falling out, like major, major and I'm looking for someone else." He placed his hands together, in a praying-like gesture. "I know I should never have even considered going out last night but...I promise I'm not going to do it again." And then he was back to murmuring quietly to himself: "I'm gonna be a good dad, I gotta be good."

Mitch rubbed at his temple. "I don't know how comfortable I feel about this Scott." It wasn't like he was agreeing to cover for some chickens running loose in a kitchen this time, he was being asked to put aside his better judgement for the sake of a man who didn't really deserve any of his trust or forgiveness.

"Please, I–please, just give me a chance." The blond was on the verge of tears now, blue eyes extra bright due to the thin layer of liquid coating them and Mitch found that, in the moment at least, he couldn't say no to him. It appeared that the power of disarming others with just one particular look was present in both father and son. 

He shook his head. "This isn't a game Scott."

"I know but...please?" Mitch could see he wasn't going to be able to leave until he'd given a proper answer and suddenly he was rather uncertain of himself and what actually was the right thing to do, so he did something very stupid and quickly came up with an answer to momentarily take the pressure off him.

"Okay. But you have to find someone to babysit him," he insisted. "Or better still stay at home like a good parent would."

Scott was over the moon despite the snide comment. "Oh my God thank you Mitchy, thanks so much I won't let you down, I–"

Mitch held up a hand. "Save it. I'll believe it when I see it."

"Yessir."

There was more silence as the two sat just listening to whatever cartoon Fox was engrossed in, something about a Jamaican mouse, until Mitch brought up a subject he'd been pondering over ever since he'd first been introduced to the little boy.

"His mom died didn't she. That's why you were so interested in how much I remembered about my own."

Scott's body flinched by the sudden question but he nodded solemnly all the same. "Yeah."

"How long ago?" Mitch figured it was a fair question seeing as Scott hadn't exactly been subtle when asking Mitch about his own mom and the blond didn't seem bothered, maybe he would have always been willing to answer if Mitch hadn't been too nervous to bring it up before.

"About three and a half years, same amount of time he's been living with me."

"I doubt he's gonna remember anything," Mitch admitted. "I don't remember anything from that age."

"Well, maybe that's a good thing." Scott smiled sadly. "We were just kids, me and his mom. Two kids against the world."

Allowing himself to finally relax slightly now that the most tense part of the conversation was over, Mitch gave his curious nature free reign. "What was her name?" was his first question.

"Isabella." Scott spoke the name like it was some sacred spell, pronouncing each letter slowly and with meaning. He sent Mitch a small smirk. "Issy to me."

"Pretty name."

"It means devoted to God," the blond informed him. "We met when we were just sixteen through...well um, we just met one day, a bit of a chance meeting. She became a very good friend, y'know, the kind that get you even when no one else does."

Nope, Mitch thought as he watched the older man reminisce fondly on those times.

"We could understand one another, there was this connection, everyone said it was special."

"And so you thought: I like you, now I'll have sex with you?"

"No, we weren't that animalistic," Scott laughed. "It was a guy Avi knew who was throwing this huge party, and cause me and Avi were tight we were able to go. That was the first night I got properly shit-faced, me and Issy both, like you think I was bad last night, it was nothing compared to then. Neither of us could remember a second of that night but the next thing we do know is that she's pregnant and I was probably the father; later confirmed with a good ol' DNA test."

 _And I guess if Isabella was as devoted to God as her name was, an abortion wouldn't have been on the list._ It always was such a tricky one, when kids started having kids before they'd finished fully growing up themselves. Mitch had never really had a strong opinion on the issue before and now he still wasn't quite sure where he stood.

"You remained in contact then?" he asked.

"Yeah absolutely, we were good friends like I said, having Fox didn't change that," Scott told him. "But we both had to grow up and she was a hell of a lot better at it than me. It was almost like she had two kids to raise. I was an idiot."

"Nothing much has changed on that front either."

The muscles in the taller man's jaw clenched, the obvious criticism harsh to his ears, but then he sighed. "I deserved that," he conceded. "She was the star. Issy was an amazing mom. She was only eighteen when she had Fox but age or experience meant nothing. Basically raised him single handedly for the first fourteen months of his life. Took him to all the doctor's appointments and mom and baby classes and this little duckling thing where they get babies swimming laps before they can crawl."

A dark look came across his face, clear blue skies clouding over until Scott's eyes were practically stormy. "And I wasn't there for any of it. Or hardly any of it," he bleakly recalled. "I was no help at all, too busy pretending I still had no real responsibility." He paused and looked up to Mitch with a wistful expression. "I've tried my hardest to raise him to be honest, responsible, open minded..." Another pause and a shadow of the wry smile Mitch had grown used to, as the blond added, "Humorous," to the list.

"I can never do as good a job as she would have though," he admitted. "If I could go back in time and I dunno...just have been there more, who knows how things would've turned out?" He scratched a hand across the back of his head, hair falling in front of his eyes as he tilted his head down. "But we live with the choices we make," he stated.

"How did it happen?" Scott was in the talking mood and Mitch knew he might not get another chance for a while if he didn't ask the question now.

"She'd taken him away for a few days, to a friend's house in Nevada; looking back she probably went for a break to get some help with metal man. At the time I had the audacity to say something like: " _oh I wish I could go on vacation once in a while_ "– I know, I know, I hate me too," Scott quickly announced when he saw Mitch glaring at him. "So she was driving back in the evening on the interstate when all of a sudden," he smashed his hands together, making Mitch flinch slightly. "Car's rolled over into a ditch, you should have seen it, how anyone could have survived..." he squeezed his eyes tight shut at the memory. "Issy was pronounced dead at the scene and metal man was airlifted to the nearest hospital."

"And his leg..." Mitch mused, everything finally slotting into place.

"He was so tiny," Scott whispered, blinking away tears. "The doctors did everything they could for him and I'm forever grateful they saved his life, who cares if he's one limb short, y'know?"

"It's expensive though."

"Yeah. No shit," Scott deadpanned, causing the younger man to lower his gaze in embarrassment, like he was the new guy at work again. "He was in there for nearly two months, fourteen months when he went in and sixteen months when he came out. Spoke his first proper words in a hospital ward and then had to re-learn to walk again when he'd barely started in the first place."

"Things were meant to get better after that, right?" Mitch murmured, predicting what the blond's thoughts would have been at the time. "You weren't going to let anything bad to him."

Scott collapsed onto the counter, burying his head in his arms. "I know I'm a failure," he mumbled. "I know I'm not very good at being a dad, most might say awful. But what can I say? I do honestly try. I've tried  _so fucking_  hard."

 _Not hard enough_. He certainly hadn't been trying hard last night, just like his own dad hadn't tried very hard, all those nights a crying little boy had gone knocking on his door...

Scott raised his head, having secretly wiped away any tears for now, his hair even more dishevelled than before. "I want what's best for him y'know? And maybe that means giving him up but... I'm all he's got. And he's all I got. Without him life would just be...meh," he decided.

"It appears you're walking a thin line with that one, you realize?"

"I do," he answered sincerely, picking up a spoon and swirling around his remaining amount of coffee, bubbling up frothy images that only he could decipher and interpret. "I dunno, sometimes it feels like I'm stuck in a never ending cycle Mitchy. Kids cost money and he costs more than most, although I'd never blame him. Never," he said firmly. "Money means long hours and long hours means stress and stress means...well, you've seen where that takes me."

_I've probably seen more than you, seeing as you don't remember much of it yourself._

"I would give him the world if I could. And the whole plan I told you about, with Mestizo's, y'know the one that's probably extremely stupid. Y'know what the driving force behind that is? The real driving force?"

"Money?"

"No, well, yeah I guess, but money for a future for Fox." The smile was back on Scott's face but Mitch could see the quiver behind it. "He wants to be a soccer player, he loves it so much, and I am damn well going to make sure his dream can come true," the blond vowed. "I'd love to take him to Tokyo in 2020 for the Paralympics, it would be such an inspiration for him." His smile dropped a little as he met Mitch's gaze, able to hold it for longer once more, no more quite as skittish. "Kid's need that don't they? People they can idolize, and I know I'm certainly not up for that role."

And then the quiet muttering started up again, although this time Mitch had to strain to hear what was being said and even then he wasn't quite sure. "I gotta thing...summin' not quite right...they all saw it."

He frowned. The more he learned about Scott, the less he felt he knew him, but if there was one thing he could be sure of, it was that he wasn't just a typical layabout dad who's biggest care in the world was his football team's success. No, there was so much more to him than that, Mitch just hand't figured out yet if what was lying under the surface was good or bad.

"I think you can do it," he told him honestly.

"Huh?" Scott looked at him with confusion, the tiny beads having eventually made themselves visible in the corners of his eyes. A man at the end of his rope.

Mitch didn't mention or refer to them, no matter what anger he still felt towards the man, it wouldn't justify belittling him for crying at this moment. "The restaurant. I think you can do it," he clarified instead. "You're clearly determined and smart when you want to be. Plus the others seem to look up to you for some reason." He took a deep breath as Scott listened to his every word with an awed expression. "It's doable. It might even be great, you never know."

"You mean that?" The blond swallowed hard as Mitch nodded. "You," he waved a long finger at the younger man, shaking his head in astonishment. "You're a great man Mitchy, you know that." He let out a breathy laugh. "I can see in your eyes that you don't believe me when I say it but that is not a lie. I'm all lied out." His smile grew until it almost reached his eyes. "I've never met anyone quite like you. So caring and honest and willing to listen...maybe you should be my idol," he finished cheekily.

"Yeah whatever," Mitch stood up. He didn't like the feeling that the conversation was being switched back to focus onto him and besides, they had to both be at work soon. "Can I take a quick shower?" he asked, already heading upstairs, not really going to take no for an answer.

"Be my guest." Scott's gaze wondered up and down what must have been a pretty shabby appearance. "I would offer you some clothes but..."

Mitch simply flipped him the middle finger. He really wasn't in the mood to hear any height jokes. He got enough of those from Avi who was barely any taller than him anyway! It was the hat, Mitch decided,  _he gets to wear a taller hat than me_.

Having possibly taken the quickest shower he'd ever had in his lifetime, Mitch regrettably hurried back downstairs in the same old clothes and hair that was going to be disastrous after a few hours of sweltering kitchen heat. Entering the kitchen again he was just in time to catch Fox walk back in casually and hand his dirty plate to his father, who poked his tongue out at him.

"Oh so I'm the dishwasher now I see."

The four year old shrugged. "Yep," he retorted, turning around and beginning to sidle off. 

"Hey, come back here sticky fingers!" Scott ordered, lunging forward and picking the boy up. "Mm, they're tasty," he said, smelling the boy's hands. "Maybe I should bite them off!"

The boy shrieked and desperately tried to wriggle away. "I'll wash them, I'll wash them!" he declared in plea, laughing as Scott mimed snapping at his tiny hands before sitting him on the counter by the sink.

Turning to him now his son was occupied, Scott informed, "We'll get the bus at the same time as Foxy...that is if you want to go in with me."

Mitch rolled his eyes. "Well I'm hardly going to wait another twenty minutes for the next one, am I?"

The taller man seemed a bit taken aback by the sarcasm but nodded his head once in confirmation. "Right, yeah...cool." He turned and clicked his back, making Mitch grimace.

 _I hate it when people do that._  He was pretty sure if he attempted that he would just snap in half.

Scott gave his son's arm a gentle tap. "C'mon metal man, show me how awesome you are at tying up your laces."

Mitch stood back as father and son charged past him, casting his gaze in the direction of the stool Scott had sat on that morning, spilling his life story to him, or at least the part he was willing to give away. Those moments of mumbling to himself, Mitch had experienced a few of those himself, usually in front of a mirror though, and the words used were a lot bluer.

He really didn't know what to do. He'd said to Scott he'd let this one incident slide but even the man had admitted himself that this was at least the third time he'd left Fox on his own. True, the boy was remarkably mature, just like Mitch had been at a similar age, but that was no excuse. Could he really trust Scott to miraculously become perfect all of a sudden? No. Really, the question was: How long was he willing to wait?

His brown eyes wandered from the stool to the fridge a few feet behind, one covered in paintings, take away flyers and numbers for various people Mitch didn't know...all except one.

"You ready Mitchy?" Scott called to him from the hallway but Mitch was deaf to him as he walked over and stared at the small slip of paper partially hidden by a drawing of a half lion half dragon creature.

This was his chance, his chance to make sure that another young boy didn't grow up to be...someone like him. Reflexes doing the work for him, he reached out and tore the note from the fridge door, holding it in the palm of his hand, pausing as he fretted if this was really the right thing to do.

Memories of last night came back to haunt him, that voice... _Daddy? Daddy?_  Or perhaps it was a voice from many years past.  _Daddy!_

"Mitch?" Scott calling out to him again jolted him back to the present and the young man spent one last lingering look at the slip of paper before closing his fist tightly around it.

"Coming," he responded, walking swiftly out of the kitchen and through the house into the welcoming sunlight.

He placed a hand on the little shoulder next to him. "Bye Fox."

"Bye Mitchy!" The boy surprised the man by wrapping his arms tightly around his legs and giving him a tight hug. "Thank you for staying last night, you're the best. Those shadows were real scared of you." Fox's sentence disintegrated into a scream as Scott, who'd been locking up, came up behind him and swung him over his shoulder. "Daddy put me down!"

"Put what down?"

"Me!"

Scott spun around, fake confusion plastered over his face. "Where are you?"

"Behind you!" Fox laughed, slapping his hand on the man's back.

"I dunno, I can't see you," he assured, dropping the boy down so his head was peaking out between his legs, little face red from the blood rush. "Oh there you are! What on earth were you doing there?" Scott exclaimed, lowering the giggling boy carefully onto the grass. "Put it there metal man," he said, holding his fist out.

Fox gave him a huge gap-toothed grin and met his father's fist with his much smaller one. "Squeezy kiss Daddy!" he then demanded, leaning forward so he could give him a sweet kiss on the lips, the man making a big "mwah" noise as they did so, causing the boy to start laughing again.

"Bye buddy," Scott said afterwards, standing up as the pre-k bus pulled up just down the road and raising his hand to the vendor in acknowledgement. "Remember: be good, be kind, be mischievous."

The little boy gave him two thumbs up. "Always!" he promised, starting to slowly walk away.

"Love ya this much," Scott told him, holding his palms up about a foot apart from each other.

"Love ya this much," Fox countered, stretching his arms as wide as they could possibly go. It wasn't very far.

His father grinned. "Well I love you this much," he shot back, copying the action. "My arms are longer so I win."

Not one to be outdone, Fox picked up his pace, running to the waiting bus, shouting: "But I love you thiiiis muuuuch!" all the way there.

Scott laughed and shook his head in fondness as he turned to face Mitch who had been silently observing the whole interaction with interest. "Okay?" he asked.

Mitch nodded and Scott shrugged off his silence. "Alright, let's be off then," he huffed, pulling his bag higher up his shoulder and starting off down the sidewalk to where their bus would soon be pulling up to.

The younger man followed slightly behind and Scott made no attempt to get them to walk together. From where he was, Mitch noticed that the blond still in fact had syrup in his hair, the golden liquid dried solid so the locks were left matted together.

Making sure Scott was still intent on facing forwards, he cautiously moved his hand to his pocket in order to check that piece of paper was still there, safely secure. He better not lose it, he was going to need it for later.


	14. Do It For Love

They sat apart on the bus journey to work, Mitch missing the company of his headphones which he realized he must have left at the restaurant, having to make do with simply staring out of the flimsy glass windows, watching the world pass by.

It was a beautiful day, he couldn't deny it. Streams of sunlight fell through the thick wall of trees that stood alongside the road, filling up every space between the leaves with warm, sugary light. The rays tumbled down onto strands of grass, which gleamed with remains of the morning dew. The sky had ripened from a fresh orange color into a pale blue. Wisps of white clouds stood unmoving. They were so thin they appeared to be stray brush marks on a blue canvas, like the one his mom was painting in his dream, or traces of powdered sugar on a baker's azure counter top.

 _I've started seeing food everywhere I look._  Mitch began hypothesising that if he looked at one location for long enough, the trees would turn into baguettes and the birds would morph into chicken wings.

Scott was sat a couple of rows ahead of him, head back, talking companionably to the driver, feet up on the opposite seats so he gave himself the added task of having to move every time a new passenger got on, inviting them in often with a loud and rambunctious greeting, one they either returned cordially or ignored with averted and sleep deprived eyes. Every so often Mitch would glance over to see the blond staring in his direction, a stare that was quickly flicked away whenever he was caught, doing that thing where he pretended he just happened to be looking in that general direction, not at Mitch himself.

Bathed in the warm glow of sunlight, it would have been hard to believe he was a man who had been out until the early hours of that same morning, drinking his own body weight in alcohol and then only getting a few hours sleep. Maybe his eyes were still slightly red, maybe he didn't hold himself as tall as usual, but unlike Mitch, who was pretty sure there were zombies who'd had better days, he looked pretty well put together.

 _How do you get to that level of hiding ability?_  Angry and betrayed he might feel, Mitch couldn't deny the fact that picking the blond's brains to try and analyze the factors that created such a man, would be a fascinating social experiment. What exact experiences had trained Scott's emotions into simulating an almost perfect cover story? That he was happy, relaxed, well put together. Almost perfect...he'd almost had Mitch fooled too; fooled enough anyway for him to not run away when Scott made a move on him at the club. If he closed his eyes, Mitch could still feel the sensation as Scott's tongue slid wantonly around his mouth, how their breaths intermingled as he left a permanent mark on Mitch's lips. The young man had a feeling it was going to leave him with some restless nights, not like he needed any more of those.  _I'm so stupid._

Breaking too hard as was this driver's apparent habit, the sudden movement at least allowed Mitch to notice they had arrived and his period of solitude had come to an end. Hopping off at the desired stop, he and Scott returned to the awkward silent walk that took them to the restaurant, the older man jogging ahead when they got close enough so he could go and check on "his girl". Scott's bike was safely tucked away around a corner, the red paint shining brightly in the sun, but by the way the man ran to check on it, you would have thought it was his second child.

"Wassup girl?" he called out cheerfully as he gave the vehicle a once over; Beyonce and Art clucking inquisitively as he strolled past their coop, jerking their heads side to side as they excitedly wondered if it was feed time.

Mitch left him to it, marching through the staff door to find a few of the others already inside. Kate and Danny were a welcome change, though clearly hungover they said hello to him warmly as always, two people who were not a part of last night's revelations. Unfortunately they both left just as Scott walked in, and the two were left alone again. Fate was not smiling kindly on him today. Getting changed into their work clothes was also a silent affair, rustlings of fabric and shuffling of feet the soundtrack to their routine, whilst in the background the usual clattering and clanging of a restaurant kitchen rousing from it's own sleep filtered into the room.

"Christmas time, mistletoe and wine!"

"Children singing Christian rhyme!"

By the sounds of Christmas melodies come more than half a year early, comedic geniuses Avi and Kevin had clearly already arrived; two more men who appeared to have limitless supplies of energy. Mitch didn't know where his opinion on them sat anymore either. So far, neither had done anything wrong in his eyes, at least not directly, and they were at least somewhat ignorant to the fact that Scott had been leaving his four year old son to fend for himself in lieu of a good night out. But they also knew about Kirstie, Mitch had heard them talking about her, Avi was still insistent that they were a match made in heaven. They knew who she was and what Scott's deal was with her. So why did it take someone who had known the man mere weeks to be the one to see through his lies?

 _Well he hasn't tried making out with them_ , Mitch answered himself.  _At least not that I know of._ He was the only one who had seen Scott behave as he had around Fox that night.

Scott finished changing before Mitch, sauntering off whistling a tune fit for a Disney movie and his smaller counterpart stalked his route, wondering if he stared at the man hard enough he'd be able to see through his flesh to what he was really made of, however the distressed buzzing from the flies caught in the ceiling lights was a slight distraction to his attempted psychic powers and the walk from the staff room to the kitchen was not a long one anyway.

Chains rattling as they were swept aside, the aroma of spices and herbs filling his senses, Mitch lowered his gaze quickly to protect his still sensitive eyes from the intense unnatural white light. "Morning all," Scott greeted with his usual easygoing charm, head held high, sending a bright smile to everyone within range.

"Scotty," Avi gave him a friendly nod complete with his own signature grin, before noticing the smaller man entering behind him. "Mitchy," he nodded again, although this time looking slightly puzzled. It was apparent he hadn't been expecting the two faces at the same time.

Kevin appeared with an equally beaming smile of his own, hands already full with a massive fryer that wobbled precariously as he made sure Mitch knew he was also pleased to see him this fine morning.

_Is constant enthusiasm a disease? Do I need to get these lot checked out?_

Mitch amused himself as he played out the scenario in his head.

_Oh what are you in for?_

_I've got a respiratory infection. You?_

_Oh I just really love Beyonce!_

"You two arrived together?" Avi asked Scott while Mitch headed straight to where he always knew he was supposed to be first thing in his shift. Chicken, chicken and more chicken. Kevin gave him a friendly nudge as he passed him and a few others called out pleasant greetings. He heard Scott responding to Avi's query with practiced fluidity.

"Yeah lucky coincidence I s'pose," he replied casually, like he hadn't thought much about it himself. "Everybody here?" he asked, creating a natural change in conversation.

His older friend huffed with a knowing smirk. "Mario messaged me five minutes ago saying he's only just woken up."

Scott chuckled leaning back against the counter while slipping his prized notebook out of his jacket pocket and beginning to take his customary notes. "Let me guess: set his alarm to go off ten times but-"

"Threw it across the room the moment the first one went off," Avi finished the sentence for him and the two shared another laugh, although Scott shook his head in slight exasperation afterwards.

"He's gonna need to sort himself out," he declared, loud enough so the other staff could hear it as a warning for themselves as well. "Can't be happening every time."

Mitch drifted off into work mode, his hands working automatically as he completed his tasks quickly and efficiently. Scott's earlier part of the morning was a lot less hands on than his was and so his initial hour or so had the man stopping by every so often to check up on him. His answer was always the same. He was fine thank you and no, there was nothing wrong.

As business picked up, the small talk that was common in the morning shifted seamlessly into demands and barking orders from the more experienced chefs, while the rest of them followed their commands to a tee. Label and stock ingredients, measure ingredients, wash vegetables, chop meat, reduce sauces, parboil food, prepare entrees, repeat. Enjoy might be too strong a word to express how he felt about the work, but it wasn't all that bad, there was even something relaxing about it after his body acclimatised and got into the swing of things.

In fact, the heavy workload was just about enough to keep his mind off the image of a scared little boy, until the subject was broached by Avi when rush hour was long over and they were getting ready for the even busier evenings. "Was Sarah mad last night?" he had asked in the midst of proposing new dishes to Scott. 

A pause, enough time for Mitch to perk his head up and glance over just in time to notice the split second when the blond's eyes widened in panic and his shoulders tensed in nervousness before he placed his mask on and nodded, laughing ruefully. "Yeah, you could say that," he lied to his friend's face, "couldn't you Mitchy?" he added, looking over to the stunned prep cook.

Knife sliding dangerously as his hand slipped on the pepper he was chopping, the smaller man sent him a glare that could kill.  _Are you really asking me that?_  Not only was Scott asking him not to tell anyone about his failings but now he wanted him to blatantly lie in front of all his co-workers, practically opening up the opportunity for Mitch to come clean and hand off the responsibility to someone else but obviously expecting that he had somehow earned enough respect and loyalty to believe that would not happen.

It was so tempting, God it was so fucking tempting, like he was an eager dog and Scott was waving a tennis ball in front of his face.  _Go fetch and bring it back to me like a good boy._  Well what if Mitch decided he wanted to run off with that tennis ball of information, straight into oncoming traffic. Actually that scenario ended considerably worse for him than anyone else, but maybe that would be true to real life. _Think about it. What good am I going to do if I cause a scene now?_

A hot and steamy kitchen filled with pointy knives and cleavers, as well as many passionate and fiery people, was decidedly not the best place to bring up Scott's issues in his personal life, no matter how much Mitch felt like sticking it to him for daring to coerce him into in his work of fiction.

And so reluctantly, the young man placed his own mask on, one he used to reserve for only the most pretentious of clients back in the big city, the ones who had to be assured that he thought the sun shined out of their ass before they would agree to work with them. That was the type of character he needed to channel in order to maintain a calm expression and answer with: "I couldn't say. I was very drunk."

Scott made no motion to show if he approved or disapproved of Mitch's little ironic statement, hitting back with a cheeky reply that couldn't have come out more naturally if they'd rehearsed the scene a dozen times over. There they were, the two lead actors in a play only they knew of, each just waiting for the other to slip up.

"Yeah you were," Scott winked at him. "Talking of drunk..." he hurriedly left that line of questioning in the dirt and encouraged everyone to focus on more trivial matters, holding up his scraped up hand for all to see. "D'you boys and girls know where this battle wound came from?" More tales from that night were spun and the other's thoughts on Scott and the imaginary Sarah dissipated.

As the evening drew in Mitch felt his heart grow heavier, the slip of paper in his pocket like a lead weight, unnaturally heavy, making vigorous movement difficult, and was a constant presence in everything he did. No matter how hard he tried, he could not fully rid himself of the overhanging dark cloud. Every dish served up somehow reminded him of last night; dancing at The Den, the cab journey home, Scott shouting at him, Fox's little face poking out from under the covers, his dreams of a childhood that still haunted him.

By the end of his shift both his body and mind were about ready to collapse and he had left as quickly and quietly as possible, only giving Kevin - who might have sensed there was something not quite right with him that day - the time to pull him into a brief hug before he was out of the door, calling out: "Bye guys." They all returned the greeting, even Scott. It was quite nice, the feeling of being...noticed?

Falling asleep on the way home had been impossible but he was lucky enough to be known to the driver by now, and was kindly awoken when they reached his stop. A gust of cool wind swept around him as he kicked the gate open, the first he had felt in a long while without being on the back of a motorcycle.

Wyatt was there to greet him by the door, as had become habit over the past week or so, mewing happily as he did a figure of eight around Mitch's legs before he was given permission to move, trotting off towards the kitchen expectantly so the man was obliged top up the little cat's dish before getting food for himself. Microwave meal, as was the standard. He was really going to have to start doing what the others did, spending a few of his free hours pre-cooking food that he could then store away and eat when he pleased.

He sat in front of the TV, trying to pay attention, but as always the shows bored him and besides, there were much more pressing matters to hand. The dilemma that had been bugging him all day. Setting his plate to one side he reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper, staring over the scrawling writing as if the code to the answer to all his problems was hidden within. Maybe it was, if he just took the initiative.

Should he do it? Was it really the right call?

After what seemed like hours of deliberation but in reality was ten minutes at most he flung his hands into his lap and dropped his head backwards. Groaning out loud he set the paper down on the coffee table, gazing up at the ceiling.

There was going to be no decision making tonight. He needed more time to think on it. Until the end of the week seemed like a sensible period of time. And so that was how long he gave it.

His following four days of work passed even more enjoyably than the previous week, in terms of his growing relationship with his colleagues and his adeptness in the kitchen itself. No one needed to tell him what to do anymore, he knew exactly what was expected of him and when. He was part well oiled machine, and was even accomplice to a few small pranks. He could even have sworn Cesar gifted him with a small smile one time. Good people, they all were, and somehow he was beginning to find himself as one of them.

On Friday he was given leave to clock out early as it was a "quiet night" and for the first time, just before he left, Mitch had a foray into front of house. It definitely wasn't a quiet night from his point of view but then he guessed he never saw what it normally looked like, except for brief glances when the wait staff would dash in and out. The restaurant had been full. An old couple eating side by side, one glass of wine each, studiously bent over their meals. A group of young women in their thirties collapsing with helpless giggles as a stern woman dining alone nearby looked on and frowned. Businessmen in their grey suits letting off steam for the first time that day. Japanese tourists, trying to decipher the menu. A family and their teenage children. The noise level was high and quite frankly Mitch was not the impressed.

 _I see what Scott meant. There's nothing special about this place, might as well be another chain._  The food may have been first class but that was the only special factor Mestizo's had going for it, and even then the chef's weren't given that much leeway with what they could create. Other than that it was bland and compact with stereotypical decor and boring music playing out of old speakers.

But it seemed popular enough, Mitch supposed. Was there really any point in trying to change it when it meant undertaking such a dodgy deal? It wasn't like it was going to earn them millions of dollars, hell they would probably be losing money for the first few months.

As he went home that day, it was with a firm decision in his mind. He'd finally made his choice. Actually Scott had helped him out a lot on that front as when Mitch had asked him multiple times during the week if he'd found anyone to help him with Fox, the blond had brushed him off and told him to stop nagging him about it. A strange approach for someone who at the same time had clearly been trying to win the younger man over, or for want of a better word, flirting. Offers of lifts home or extra breaks, complimenting him for the smallest tasks that a monkey could have carried out with little difficulty, the consistent light touches on his arm and shoulder. If Scott thought that tactic was going to work him back into the good books he had another thing coming.

Mitch never really liked that sort of approach anyway, never been too fond of the long and drawn out flirtatious banter that was meant as ritual for guys his age. His only previous long term relationship had been initiated by the other spilling coffee over him during a boring college lecture and then immediately asking him out, red-faced, for coffee in way of apology. Direct and to the point, no pussyfooting around.

Travis had been a nice boy, a scholarship kid over the moon to be attending the prestigious business college. The type of guy Mitch was always told he was lucky to have; his charismatic and far more outgoing counterpart. Mitch had always been the one punching above his weight in that relationship. Being with Travis meant going out with friends, or actually getting invited out in the first place. It was lazy Saturdays just spend watching movies in bed and a skiing trip to Canada that was one of Mitch's fondest memories, even if he had turned out to be absolutely shit at skiing.

Travis had visited his parents every weekend, often with flowers for his mom or some DIY tool for his dad. Travis had always talked about his want to settle down and raise a family. Travis had always been considerate and giving to Mitch's wants and needs...and Mitch had called it off.

To the outside eye it seemed like he ended the relationship when it couldn't have been stronger, but honestly he couldn't have coped any longer. Just like an addict, Mitch had lived throughout that relationship with a subconscious awareness that he would inevitably destroy whatever good he and Travis had, and that anxiety had been the backdrop to every moment. And so he had self-medicated the fear, worked harder, tried new ways to become a different person and clung more tightly to what he desperately wanted. The times he inevitably self-sabotaged and acted out in ways that betrayed his values, those experiences were laden with soul-crushing shame. Like he had just woken up inside a nightmare. In part it was because he had no idea why he was doing it. He had an almost separate self who was doing those things.

When asked why, he struggled to give an answer he knew would be accepted. The answer of, "I'm going to mess up or mess myself up if I stay in this relationship" didn't seem adequate enough. It wasn't even as if Travis had been forcing him to change, it was just what Mitch had instinctively done. He'd loved what Travis had represented, he'd loved the idea of him and he'd loved the idea of being known as his boyfriend. But he knew all too well that the good things in life were fleeting and yes, you could say he had run. A habit he had yet to drop.

He used to think he admired what Scott represented, had even felt jealousy for the man's situation and attitude to life and all it had gifted him. Now he was starting to think the man might be as messed up as he was.

Him and Travis hadn't stayed together for long, been over before they were out of college. Fleeting though it was Mitch didn't regret it. It had proved a good lesson in dealing with letting go, with accepting that love was never easy and often brutal. It had certainly toughened him up to say the least. He wondered what the man was doing now. He hoped he'd found someone more worthy of his love.

Talking of toughing up, he really needed to give himself a kick up the ass and make the damn phone call. It was now or never. Half past one on a Saturday, hopefully he wouldn't be catching them in a rush.

Taking the call outside into the warm midday air, his hands shook as he pulled the tiny slip of paper from his pocket, the creases firmly worn in from a week of sitting under a magazine on his coffee table.

Glancing around he noticed the only company he had was his elder neighbour, sitting on a deck chair on the opposite balcony who, from the smell of things, was smoking a hell of a lot of weed.

Wrinkling his nose but remaining outside, Mitch shook out the tension his hands and hurriedly dialled the number into his phone, not wanting to wait around any longer. The call was answered after a short period, the dialling ending only to be replaced with an ambient office sound and the sound of paper rustling, followed by a loud crash and someone swearing under their breath. 

Mitch swallowed to clear his throat, frowning as he wondered what on earth was going on at the other end of the line. "Hello?" a woman's voice finally echoed down the speaker, slightly out of breath but professional and polite all the same, obviously well practiced in phone manner.

"Hello?" Mitch replied, his own phone etiquette temporarily forgotten as he resorted to simply parroting what he had already heard.

"Um, this is Kirstie speaking, have you got the right number?" She sounded rushed, the noise of papers and what could be a stapler being used, making him wonder if he'd caught her at a bad time.

"Sorry yes...I um," he cleared his throat again. "I'm a colleague of Scott's...Scott Hoying?"

There was another pause and Mitch felt like if he listened hard enough he would be able to hear the other's brain ticking over those few words. "Is this a prank?" she questioned, suspicion evident as was probably prone to those who knew Scott and his associates. Especially someone who was the current infatuation of one Avi Kaplan.

"No," Mitch laughed lightly, reassuring her. "No ma'am not at all, I just wondered if you had a few minutes spare to speak to me...it's about Fox." Polite and to the point, it had the desired affect.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name earlier," she replied.

"Mitch Grassi...we've met once before, when you came to see Scott the other day."

Kirstie gave no indication that she remembered that encounter or had indeed paid attention to who he was, but she was satisfied with his answer. "Go ahead," she responded, all ears now.

And so Mitch began to recount that night for her, explaining briefly the lead up to going out, putting emphasis on Scott's blasé approach to forgoing all parental responsibility and lying to his and the others faces about having someone looking after Fox, but leaving out the parts of the actual partying, the small conversations and the more intimate moments...that wasn't what Kirstie needed to hear anyway.

When he reached the part of the story when he and Scott had arrived at the older man's home, audible sighs could be heard and Mitch made sure to mention the way Scott had acted while in his drunken stupor, uncaring and angry, unpredictable and out of character. He told Kirstie he'd stayed the night out of a guilty conscience not allowing him to leave the boy, skipping the part about him sleeping in the boy's bed.

Once he had finished another long pause followed and Mitch found himself holding in breath in fear he might interrupt some important thought process. "I see," Kirstie finally said, her voice tight as she then left Mitch waiting for another few seconds. When she did speak up, it was not with the question he would have expected first. "And so Scott has no idea that you're calling me?"

Mitch frowned, pacing up and down the balcony. "I don't think he would have let me, he basically begged me to keep the whole thing a secret from everyone." He pursed his lips. "Why does it matter?"

"I just wondered if you were really doing this for the right reasons," she queried lightly, and even though she still sounded just as polite and friendly as earlier, Mitch couldn't help but note a slight judgemental tone to her wording.

_Hold on a sec, since when did this turn into a character assessment of me?_

Then again, perhaps he was just reading in between the lines too much, as was a bad practice of his, and he bit back a reply that went along the lines of how she should mind her own business, settling for a: "I don't really know what you mean."

"I was just curious as to whether you were contacting me because you love them and want them to be happy," she replied matter of factly.

Leaning over the railing, Mitch peered down into the murky waters of the pool, the leaves floating around like mini gondolas, a few unlucky ants using them as rafts to carry them to safety. "I don't love them," he told the woman shortly. "I barely even know them."

"You know them well enough to take my number from their fridge." she pointed out. He had no reply for that and he didn't bother offering her one. Gathering that she wasn't going to get an answer, Kirstie sighed, pointing out: "It seems Fox has made quite the impression on you."

Mitch smiled despite himself, the limited memories he had with the child warming his chilled heart. "He's a very sweet little boy," he said earnestly.

A laugh from Kirstie, and then: "And Scott?"

_Complicated, infuriating, annoying, idiotic, irresponsible, childish; take your pick._

"He's a hard worker," he told her. That much was the truth anyway.

"Not usually the first words people use to describe him."

_See above._

"He's just a guy I work with, listen," he didn't want to get bogged down in any deep relationship analysis. He just wanted to get what he called for. "I don't mean to be rude but shouldn't you really be more concerned about Fox rather than my relationship with them?"

"Of course Mitch," Kirstie replied politely. "I just like to make sure I have the full picture in my head before I write out a report, I'm not putting any blame or judgement onto you."

"Okay," Mitch said, nodding and lightly nudging Wyatt, who had come out to join him, out of the way as he began pawing at his leg. "Okay I can understand that," he conceded. He supposed that was part of her job after all. "So you are going to write up a report?" he asked for clarification.

"I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't. I'm gonna have to pass this one on to Angela, my superior." Was that a slight note of regret Mitch could detect in her voice?

"And then what happens?" he asked, eager to know if his days of worrying could be put to one side when it came to Fox and Scott.

More paper shuffling and he heard the sound of pen being put to paper. "We will add it to our list of things to consider in the near future."

"For the investigation, right? You're keeping tabs on him to see if Fox needs to go into foster care." Mitch couldn't help himself, he was going to squeeze Kirstie's brain for every bit of information he could get, like he was doing background research into a client again, an eager hound dog. 

"He told you this?" she queried, surprised.

"Not all of it...it's not hard to work out though."

Kirstie clicked her tongue in her mouth. "Scott is one of many young parents we keep tabs on," she stated simply.

Right, this was a big city, there were bound to be plenty of young adults with equally young children and Mitch knew social services were never known for getting huge amounts of funding. But he needed to know that something was going to be done. Action ought to be taken sooner rather than later, less people always got hurt that way.

"Any idea when you'll know what's going to happen?" he pestered her for more.

"Even if I did know, I would not be telling someone who merely considers themselves a work colleague all the details," she answered, the slimmer of judgement creeping back into her tone. "Things as sensitive as this are never rushed though," she insisted.

"It must be soon," he continued. "I heard Scott mention it had been a while, you're gonna come to a conclusion soon."

He stopped. Couldn't be taking it too far with the badgering. He wanted to remain on Kirstie's good side. All was quiet on the other end, for so long that Mitch wondered if she had got up and left him jabbering into her desk.

"I'm afraid I cannot digress Mitch." She spoke so suddenly that he jumped slightly, looking around in embarrassment in case anybody had been close enough to see him. Nope he was good, old guy was still gone to the world in his drug induced trance.

"That's fair enough..." he took a deep breath. He had to say this last one thing. "But I just need to tell you that personally, I don't think he should be looking after a child, not one so young, I don't know if you've ever seen him when he's drunk, but he's not the sort of man you want around a young boy." Licking his lips, he added: "Plus all week, he's just shrugged the whole ordeal off, acted like it was nothing."

"I think the key word in that sentence was acted," Kirstie said knowingly and Mitch wished he could see her expression at that moment. "I appreciate you giving your opinion on the matter...but if I can tell you anything today Mitch, I would say not everything is as black and white as it seems." She sighed. "I know Scott, consider myself a close friend, perhaps that does make me biased...but he's not two dimensional, he's not simply good dad Scott and bad dad Scott," she said quietly. "Perhaps if you allowed yourself to hop over to his side of the valley once in a while you might gain a better understanding of the whole situation."

Alright, if there had been any doubt before, Mitch was now absolutely certain that Scott and this girl had more than just a long term acquaintance relationship. He remembered how Fox had mentioned the two had been friends for a long time and although the boy wouldn't have known exactly how close they were, from the way she was trying to defend the man, it was clear she had some deep and firmly set in stone bond with Scott.

"I know the guys who can't cope with being parents when I meet one," he responded, reddening at the tremor he was unable to keep out of his voice.

He wasn't saying he should have been taken into care. His father was never abusive or neglectful, he always had enough money on hand to make sure his son was looked after properly. He was just never very good at actually acting like a dad, someone his young self had felt he could go to in his hours of need, someone he could share an inside joke with, or simply just act carefree and childlike around.

 _Scott and Fox have that sort of relationship..._ No. A relationship like that they may have, but there were two sides to this family coin, and it was the flip side that was the most bothersome.

"So be it," Kirstie softly said, with a hint of sympathy, before she took an audible deep breath. "May I thank you on behalf of San Diego Welfare services for your time and cooperation and bid you a pleasant afternoon. Goodbye." And with that she had hung up and ended the conversation with no room for Mitch to add one more thought to the matter.

The young man held the phone away from him, giving it a look of confusion. Shaking his head, he put it back into his pocket, smiling as Wyatt jumped onto the railing and came and sat directly in front of his face, blinking at him with wide eyes.

"Humans, eh Wyatt?" he murmured, scratching the little cat behind the ear and laughing when the loud motor like purring started up. "Can't understand them, you have no idea how lucky you've got it little one."

Wyatt jumped down, having spotted an insect crawling by Mitch's feet, and began batting at it. The way the cat bounded about him reminded Mitch of the way Fox acted with Scott, the way the little boy excitedly bounced up at his father, and the way the man's grin would grow impossibly large. But that meant nothing if the blond was prone to moments of weakness. Moments of weakness got you nowhere in life. Moments of weakness had you packing your bags to flee the city in disgrace and turned you into a nobody. Moments of weakness had you ending the best relationship you were probably ever going to have. Moments of weakness were not what that little boy deserved.

Mitch thought of the laughter when he and Fox had played make believe in his room, of the beautiful day when he and Scott had spoken over cocktails at his house. He thought of the way he'd felt when Scott had kissed him, how his own body had responded in a way that was natural and instinctive and not like the Mitch he knew at all. He thought of himself as a child, lonely and bitter, too young to understand why his father acted the way he did. 

He'd done the right thing. It wasn't like it had been a rash decision, he'd thought carefully about making this call.  _It was definitely the right thing to do._

So why did he feel so empty inside?


	15. This Road I Walk

By the middle of the next week Mitch finally started to feel like he was over the new guy phase, having graduated from the rookie into just one of the team. The joyous feeling he gained from that realization was stronger than he had expected it to be.

Knowing the inside jokes, being invited in on pranks, having all their phone numbers plus several of their relatives and other friends added into his contact list; it all made him feel like a part of a team in a way he had never before experienced in his life. Even the name Mitchy was growing on him.

On Thursday, near the end of his shift, Avi had come bounding up to him, flinging a dish cloth over the younger man. Removing the wet fabric from his head, Mitch had jumped back slightly from the sight of the chef's beaming face just a few inches from his own.

"You ready for the weekend Mitchy?" he asked excitedly, grinning as the other man mock glared at him.

Mitch tilted his head in confusion. "Um, should I be?" he asked.

Avi's grin faded away. "Did you not know?" At Mitch's look of bewilderment he frowned, shouting unnecessarily loudly over to Kevin who was only standing a few paces away from him. "You were supposed to tell him!"

The older man shrugged. "I thought Scotty would tell him," he explained, pulling a face. "Shouldn't it be up to you to tell everyone anyway?"

Mitch sighed. Sometimes he swore he was working with middle school children, the length of time they could spend ribbing each other. "Tell me what?" he spoke up, looking between the terrible two.

Avi turned back to him, beaming once more and puffing himself up proudly. "The date's been altered," he stated. "We are now celebrating the birthday of yours truly on a Saturday. This coming Saturday. Gonna annoy Antonio that one, having to call in all the casual staff at such short notice..." he glanced away as he spotted a certain blond near by. "But what can you'd do eh Scotty, when your babysitter is letting you down?"

Scott looked up, surprised at being suddenly brought into the conversation, taking a few seconds to comprehend why he had been addressed, before it dawned on him and he gave Mitch a nervous smile. "Sarah...quit," he said slowly, biting his lip. "So I can't be leaving the little guy on his own," he explained, although Mitch was the only one who knew the meaning behind those words. Smiling a little wider, he declared: "He's pretty hyped up to be coming to Uncle Avi's party anyway."

His friend laughed and wrapped an arm around the blond's shoulders. "It'll be all the better because of him," he insisted. "I don't get to see the little guy enough."

Mitch could not know if that revelation was what affected his dreams that night, or if it were just some kind of weird coincidence, but that night, as he dreamt of his father again, his dreams were slightly different.

The first one he had recollection of after waking up was of him sitting at their old kitchen table. He wan't viewing his younger self though, this time  _he was_  his younger self. He didn't know how old he was, but could only speculate he was around eight, seeing as his feet only barely touched the floor.

His father was talking to him. He sounded upset, but for a while the sound was muffled to his dreaming ears, and the body he was inhabiting was only interested in the book he had in front of him. Text blurred in front of his eyes, but the young man wasn't interested in what they had to tell him, the only words he wanted to hear the the ones from his father's lips.

_I don't remember this. When did we ever really both sit at the table together?_

His father was leaning closer to him, he could see out of the corner of young Mitch's eyes, a figure leaning forward, reaching towards his son but not quite touching.

"Mitch," he was saying. "Mitch, please look at me."

He still didn't, no matter how much he tried to. This young version of himself was intent on ignoring the man as much as possible.

"Mitch, son," his father's voice cracked. "I just want to talk to you, I need you to talk to me."

Still the young boy made no motion to show that he was even listening.

_Look at him! Why don't you just look at him?_

"I'm trying Mitch, really I am. What d'you say, you and me, maybe we could go to the movies or something? You used to love going all the time."

Finally the boy had raised his head and Mitch caught a proper glance at his father. What he saw surprised him. The man looked distraught, in a way he'd never seen him before. His eyes were tired, red rimmed, his face taut from the stress, his hair disheveled, his shirt and tie a sloppy mess. He doesn't look like the man he remembers from his childhood, with his pristine suits and slicked back hair, dazzling practiced smiles and formality when speaking to his son.

"Mitchy?" his father tried once more, voice quivering.

 _Speak to him_ , Mitch tried to urge his young self.  _Go on just say something!_

But instead he just carried on staring at the man, blank faced, unforgiving eyes, not a word spoken, and after a while, with still no response, his father sighed, walking over to him and ruffling his hair. "I love you Mitch," he says, before walking out of the kitchen, his footsteps echoing all the way to the front door.

The sound of the door slamming shut is what also jolts him out of his sleep, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, bed sheets in a tangle, his heart thudding rapidly in his chest.

 _What was that?_  Is his first coherent thought.  _Was that real?_  He had no recollection of ever having an exchange like that between him and his father. His father had always been the one ignoring him, wanting nothing to do with the turmoil of emotions his son was going through. That was what he remembered; that was the truth. Wasn't it?

Trying to get back to sleep after that was a pointless effort. It seemed every time he closed his eyes some new scene would be before him, one that he had no memory of ever having taken placed. They ranged approximately between ages six and eleven, and each one bode a similar scenario: his father, attempting to speak to him, or offering him some form of comfort. Each time rejected or just plain ignored by a boy who acted as if he did not have any care in the world for the man.

It had left him feeling empty and confused, like his childhood had been a lie, imaginings of a neglectful father created by his own traumatised mind.  _But Dad was like that. We never had heart to hearts, not since mom died._  Up until now, Mitch had only ever remembered the one version of the man, but were his dreams telling him there had been another?

There was no way to really find out for certain and it became another to add to the list of distractions that affected him in his everyday life. So distracted that on Saturday afternoon he ended up getting on the wrong bus to Avi's birthday, which took him ten minutes in the opposite direction before he noticed his error.

Avi and Kevin's house was a bit out of the way, taking him forty something minutes with the early mistake and no actual direct bus route. Even then he ended up walking past the turning for the road until he ran out of houses and had to backtrack on his steps.

Having taken an unnecessarily long route in reaching his destination, Mitch finally arrived at the party location. The house was a one storey cream coloured stone building, the paintwork taken off on one side to reveal the grey rocks underneath. It was a nice house except the windows had bars across them and there were a number of dead potted plants scattered about their driveway. 

Having to squeeze past a grey Nissan to actually reach the front door, Mitch could hear music blaring through speakers and the laughter and chatter of at least a dozen people travelling from behind the house and the aroma of herbs and spices filled his nostrils, like Mestizo's kitchen but at the same time not, it was rare he got to smell them mixed in with fresh air and all the scents the outdoors brought with it.

A "Broken" note stuck on the doorbell, Mitch raised his fist and knocked firmly three times on the wood. The door opened almost on impact and Mitch barely had time to breath before he was being pulled into a hug. "Mitchy!" Avi's beard tickled his ear as he shouted out said man's name.

After being released from the other's firm hold, the younger man smiled and presented his host with his gift. "Happy Birthday." It was nothing special, just a box of different sauces that Scott had suggested he'd buy.

"You shouldn't have," the man gushed, deadpanning straight after: "Actually yes you definitely should have. I love presents!" He laughed loudly at the shaking of Mitch's head, stepping aside and holding his arm out. "Come in, come in. Welcome to the Kaplan and Olusola residence!" No sooner had he closed the door, there was another knock. "Oh," Avi turned back around, going to open it again, motioning for Mitch to carry on. "Everybody else is out back if you wanna head on through."

Doing just so, heading down the hallway that lead directly through the middle of the house out to the back, Mitch briefly glanced through the open doors, spying Danny kneeling on the floor looking like he was raiding the cupboards and then a bit farther down, Cesar typically hard at work, having insisted he was going to be doing the cooking for the thirty something guests.

Exiting through the sliding glass doors into the back garden it was clear nearly all the others were here; most of the staff from work plus friends and family members Mitch had yet to meet. Unlike parties back in the big city however, he felt nowhere near the same level of apprehension when it came to mingling with strangers. These people were related to or friends of Avi, so how could they be that bad? Annoying more than anything, but not mean. Almost everyone he used to know had always been so mean...and judgemental.

And the first person to spy him was most certainly neither of those things. "Mitchy!" There was no time to greet anybody else as a little ball of energy coated in dust came barrelling towards him, wrapping their arms around his legs in a tight hug.

Laughing, Mitch crouched down instinctively and lifted the boy up, grinning face to face with the hyperactive, giggling youngster.

"Hello," he said to Fox, who beamed widely a him, his two new front teeth protruding proudly out of pink gums.  _I'm gonna have to get a photo of you later_ , Mitch thought. He needed a permanent memento of this kid, especially if he might not have a chance to see him again if things panned out a particular way.

"I'm very super happy excited to see you!" Fox exclaimed, wriggling in his arms.

Mitch spun him around in the air, repeating: "I'm very super happy excited to see you too. How've you been?" he queried, setting the boy back down on the ground very gently, unsure how stable he was exactly on his fairly new limb.

Apparently it was a concern he needn't have had for as soon as his feet were on firm ground again, the four year old was running rings around him. The feeling of guilt suddenly leapt at him. He'd been meaning to visit, but work and maybe more importantly, nervousness at being alone with just Fox and Scott, had taken over.

Fox didn't quite understand what Mitch was asking him anyway, limiting his answer to just his current location. "Um, I've been drinking orange juice and Daddy always says it makes me climb the walls. D'you want to come and play?" the boy asked, immediately stopping in his bouncing and looking up at Mitch with his big, pleading blues.

"I will in a bit," Mitch promised him. "I'm just gonna say hi to the others."

"Okay, Daddy's over there setting up the table thingies," Fox pointed to the long table across the garden, before tearing off back to a game of soccer a group of teens were playing, yelling: "Neymar is back in the game!"

The garden was actually impressively big, bigger than the house itself, and the views it had over the valley were absolutely stunning.

Heading over to where Scott was busy placing a number of alcoholic beverages on a table for people to help themselves, he cleared his throat to announce his presence. "Hey," he said as the blond spun around.

"Oh hi," Scott cheerfully greeted, smiling brightly as was his speciality. "Didn't notice you'd arrived. You get here okay?"

"Got a little lost but it's nothing like trying to locate an address in New York."

The man gave him a wry smirk as he finished with his current task and lent Mitch his full attention. "You're putting me off going there more and more y'know. What with it's violence on every street corner and rats always a few feet away from you and now I'm apparently going to just get lost." He clamped and hand on Mitch's slender shoulder and squeezed it. "You just don't want me in  _your city_ , do you ?" he said teasingly.

"Whatever," Mitch rolled his eyes, although he was unable to stop the small smile from breaking out on his own face.

Only you, he thought in frustration,  _only you could have the ability to make me smile after everything you've done_. He jumped as Danny accidentally knocked into his side carrying a cardboard box in front of him.

"Got 'em Scotty," the young man said, voice straining as he dumped the box down on the table, the sound of cutlery getting shaken as he did so.

"Cool you can– no Danny you dumbass, what are you doing?" Scott switched from his usual laid-backness into sudden annoyance, picking up the cutlery the young man had brought out in what could almost pass for horror. "These are fish and serving forks! And this," he picked up another, "this is a salad spoon."

The young black man just stared at him open-mouthed, looking down at everything like he couldn't care less what it was. "Does it matter?" he asked blandly.

"Does it matter," Scott scoffed. "Look, you might not be front of house staff, but I thought you would know your way around cutlery by now," the man chastized him, inspecting the other cutlery the man had brought out and picking out a few that were correct according to him.

"Dude," Danny groaned, throwing his head back in frustration as Scott fussed about. "It looks the same as normal. I didn't even know Avi had different sets anyway. He probably thinks they're all the same as normal too."

"No," Scott fretted, shaking his head adamantly. "See look, the fish one is smaller and has indents here, and the serving one is just heavier than normal." He shoved the spoon he was holding into Danny's face. "This is rounder and shorter than a dinner spoon, see?"

The way the younger man looked at it was similar to how Mitch might have looked at a sports car. Yes, it was mildly interesting. Did he care? No. "Yeah I guess," Danny replied, echoing Mitch's thoughts, "but who cares?"

Tightening his mouth, Scott glared at the cutlery as if it had offended him somehow. "I do," he said stoically.

Danny let out a loud groan of complaint, kicking at the ground like a naughty school boy. "But c'mon Scotty," he pleaded, "it took me ages to sift through their cupboards, they're like a bomb site–"

"No!" Scott interrupted him forcefully, throwing the evil spoon back into the box, the sound of metal on metal ringing out harshly, a dark look on his face. "Things should be done properly, it's Avi's night, things ought to be done right," he started wringing his hands together, bringing his clenched fists up to his forehead and bumping them together in agitation.

Mitch, alarmed by the dramatic and unexpected change in personality, stepped forward automatically, not knowing what he was supposed to do to help however willing to try, but before he even got close, Avi appeared seemingly out of nowhere, stepping in front of the blond and placing two strong hands on his shoulders.

"Hey, it's okay, y'know I don't mind buddy," he said softly, casting a glance back to Mitch and Danny. "You two go and get the correct sets," he requested with a small smile, switching his attention immediately back to his old friend.

Mitch stood by, unsure what exactly had just happened, but after a moment Danny sighed loudly next to him, grabbed the box and stomped off back to the house. "Fine," he called out to the two as Mitch followed hot on his heels.

Leading him back into the room Mitch had spotted him in when he'd first arrived, he threw the cupboard doors open and getting on his knees. Mitch copied his movements and was not entirely surprised to see the younger man had not been lying when he'd used the words "bomb" and "site" to describe the mess.

_I guess this is almost like a second home, the amount of time they spend working at the restaurant. Not much time for clear outs._

Picking through the plastic boxes and containers for the specific cutlery, Danny initiated conversation, obviously still in a bit of a foul mood for being sent back inside. "I love Scotty man, he's been like a big brother to me," he said after a while, "but he gets real weird sometimes."

"Weird?" Mitch questioned, interest peaking. "How?"

Danny shrugged. "Like just now," he explained, "occasionally some things just set him off and he gets stressed, little stuff that most people don't pay attention to." A memory came to him and he laughed lightly at the thought. "I accidentally tore a page in one of Cesar's cooking books once and Scotty went crazy, made me go out and buy a whole new one just for a little rip!"

Well that was their superior, and someone Scott clearly had huge amounts of respect for, so it was understandable. "Maybe he's just particular," he suggested, throwing back a fork that looked like it hadn't been updated since the stone age.

"Yeah," the other man mumbled. "Obsessive more like. OCD for the dumbest shit. Oh and there was that one time...weird as fuck."

"What was that?" Mitch asked when he trailed off.

"Oh I dunno," Danny began again, "nothing really, we were all just talking about times we'd got in trouble at school and the type of shit we got up to as kids, and he says summin' like, you get sent upstairs a lot?" Giving Mitch a searching look to check he didn't understand it either, he continued to reenact the conversation. "I was like, you mean to my room?, and he was like no, y'know,  _upstairs_." Throwing the last of the cutlery into the box, he stood up, still locking eyes with Mitch's curious ones. "None of us had a clue what he was on about and he just let it go after a while," he said. "I guess they must just raise kids strange out in the backcountry."

Mitch didn't reply, following the man silently out of the cluttered room. It didn't sound like much but he hadn't been there at the time and if he knew anything, he knew that the incident a few minutes ago had definitely been weird.

Avi and Scott were there to greet them by the table, the latter with a thoroughly apologetic expression. "Thanks guys," he said, taking the box off Danny's hands, smiling ruefully. "Sorry for getting like that Danny, I had no right to get so worked up," he told him, a lot calmer now although Mitch sensed the emotions that had caused the outburst hadn't completely vanished yet.

True to form, the young man took it all in his stride, slapping a hand against the blond's arm. "It's all good dawg," he insisted, gold capped teeth shining, "at least it's right now. How'd you know all that stuff about the difference between them anyway? Cesar been giving you more private tutoring?"

"No...I just know about these sort of things. Read about it once." Danny looked like he was about to argue that point but Avi hastily took him aside and gave him another job to do. Mitch too wasn't sure about that one. He could perhaps believe the blond had picked up a book maybe once or twice in his non-school life, but a book on table etiquette? That seemed a bit unlikely.

He was distracted from his curiosities when a little voice perked up. "Let me help!" Fox shouted, running across the lawn, his clothes even dustier than before and covered in grass stains.

Setting his gaze upon his son, it was like a wave of calm had rushed over Scott's body, his shoulders relaxed and his eyes brightened. "Alright Foxy boy," he said with a big grin, placing a fond hand on top of the little boy's head. "Why don't you help Mitchy lay the table?"

Nodding enthusiastically, the youngster held his hands out for Mitch to pass him the cutlery. "Okie dokie!"

Mitch handed him a handful of forks and the boy strolled around the table, taking twice as long as Mitch probably would have on his own seeing as he could barely reach, but the young man wasn't about to complain. Just being in Fox's company had some sort of affect on him that he was only just beginning to understand. It was being in the presence of someone so pure and innocent, a feeling he couldn't remember experiencing since he was a young boy himself.

Having relieved himself of his duties of his own accord, the young boy took to just following Mitch around, chattering happily to him, mainly about soccer and his favourite players. He had also been staring at his hands and arms for a while, and eventually spoke up about what he found so interesting. "Did that hurt?" he asked, poking at the bats on Mitch's hand, tracing the outline with one tiny finger. "Daddy says his one under his arm hurt."

"Only a little," Mitch told him. "I don't mind it too much."

Fox grinned at him. "They look cool, right?" he affirmed, inspecting the other tattoos he could visibly see and nodding in approval. "I wanna get tattoos when I'm big, loads of 'em! Daddy says I'd be good with pain cause I've already been really brave when my leg got broke off. He says I was the bravest baby in the whole hospital!"

"I'm sure you were," Mitch assured him earnestly. "You should get a fox tattoo," he suggested, his heart warming at the look of delight that spread across the boy's face.

"That was one of my ideas!" Fox claimed, looking at him in adoration. "You guessed that from my name didn't you?"

"You got me," Mitch smirked, setting the last of the cutlery down, hoping that he hadn't put them the wrong distance apart or something else that might set Scott off again. "There I think we're done," he said to the boy, holding his hand up. "High five."

The boy gladly met him up top - or down low, depending on who's perspective you were judging it from - and somehow, using every bit of natural charm he had inherited and tactics he'd learnt over the years, he managed to convince Mitch into playing soccer with him until dinner was ready. Or rather Mitch stood still while the young boy kicked the ball at him.

When food was eventually served it was a sight to behold. Cesar and his brother had pulled out all the stops when it came to feeding the party and then some. The table top was layered with trays of the most delicious food, delicacies capable of making Mitch's mouth water on sight: roast deer with sprigs of rosemary, stuffed with bacon and rye bread, marinated chicken, grilled trout with lemon, smoked sausages and a pineapple glazed ham, mounds of fragrant wild rice, potatoes and diced pumpkin smeared with butter and spices, countless cheeses that went with baskets of crackers and bread rolls shaped as seashells, and all sorts of varieties of salads and side dishes.

Mitch and Fox were mirror images of one another as they stared at the assortment in such astonishment they could have passed for scared. "That. Is. Amazing." A wide eyed Mitch said simply, causing the others to laugh. Clearly they were not quite as foreign to the wonders their executive chef was capable of cooking up with limited time and resources.

Avi was like an excited dog, practically jumping all over the food, throwing everything onto his plate. "It does, doesn't it kid?" he agreed with Mitch, grinning cheekily at his superior. "I knew we kept old Cesar around for a reason."

"Less of the old," the man said gruffly, keeping his head down, but Mitch saw the shadow of a smile grace his lips too.

"Yeah, this is the sort of food we should be serving," Scott spoke up through a mouthful of chicken. "Not the same old stuff again and again."

Everyone called out their agreements to that statement, Mitch included, secretly pleased to be part of their little rebelling, and then for a while the only main sounds were of people contentedly chewing. Of course that could never last for long with this crowd and pretty soon the usual banter had started up.

Mitch took to listening to other people's conversations, not because he felt left out but purely because some of the stuff he heard was hilarious, children's ones included.

The only other child Fox's age was a little girl who seemed to think very highly of herself, talking to the boy who was a very eager if slightly apprehensive listener. "But I'm very special," Mitch heard her telling him, brushing her golden locks to the side as she said so. "I know words like dangerous and dynamite and doppelgänger and dictionary and...I might be the most special here."

She said it so seriously that Mitch almost choked on his drink in laughter. Fox however, stared at her in awe, quickly nodding his head when he realized she was waiting for his reaction. "You might be," he readily agreed.

Mitch did laugh into his drink then, making a gurgling sound that earned him a teasing nudge from Avi, who had also been listening in.  _Learning the smooth talking moves already._  "I'm sure Foxy boy is very special too," Kevin, who was sat next the two kids spoke up, giving the young boy a smile. "What's something special about you kiddo?" he encouraged.

The little boy thought hard for a few seconds, resting his chin on his hand in concentration before his face lit up. "Um, Daddy telled me I got a lion mane and when I grow up I'll have a big beard," he announced loudly so his father could hear. "And if I be very special," the boy continued pointing to his cheeks, sharing a cheeky knowing grin with the blond, "lion whiskers might grow out of my freckles."

Kevin pulled a purposeful astounded expression. "Wow," he said in awe and Mitch cracked up with the others at Fox's description.

Dinner carried on; drinks were thrown back although nowhere near as much as Mitch had expected. In fact, Scott seemed to steer clear of it altogether, sticking to water. Now and then he would catch Mitch's gaze from across the table and smile at him, but they didn't talk much beyond "Can you pass me (insert delicious food)?"

It wasn't until after they had finished eating and Fox almost forcefully pulled them together by his want to play with the both of them, that they had more time to talk. Even then there was something almost forced about the interaction. For the past week Scott would normally have taken the opportunity to continue on with the charade that they had something between them. It was probably because Fox was there, that was what Mitch told himself. _It's not like I wanted him to do it. I don't like it anyway._

"And for tonight's entertainment," Kevin called out, silencing the chatter as he disappeared around the side of the house with Mario and rolled out an object covered in a white sheet. "Happy Birthday brother," he said with glee as he pulled off the sheet with a flourish to reveal his gift to the birthday boy.

Avi's first reaction was alarm, his jaw dropping as he stared incredulously at the object he had been presented with. "And where are we supposed to fit this?" he asked.

Kevin grinned evilly at the piano that now stood proudly at the center of attention. "Your room," he retorted, dodging quickly out of the way as Avi made a move to tackle him.

"It's only a digital one, I wouldn't be getting too excited," Scott called out, laughing too.

Still not over his shock, an idea formulating in his mind, his bearded friend turned back to him in excitement. "Really I should be letting our resident pianist do the honors first," Avi said, winking at the younger man.

Kevin coughed into his hands, letting out a muffled "penis" instead, which earned him a cuff about the back of the head from the blond.

"You," Avi clicked his fingers at the younger man, pointing to the piano. "I command that you play for me," he said with an air of put on superiority.

Scott shifted his weight from foot to foot awkwardly, shifting uneasily at the sudden attention and expectant faces on him. "I, uh..."

"C'mon Scotty!" Kevin encouraged him, pushing the younger man forward. "Play something!"

"What?" the young man asked, eyes darting about, hoping for an escape.

"Anything!"

Fox ran up to him, tugging at his hand happily. "Please Daddy!" he begged, putting the pleading puppy face to good use. Scott looked around some more, then back at his son's big eyes, and sighed loudly, sauntering cautiously over to the instrument.

A chair was placed behind it for him and he sat down with a visible apprehension. For someone who seemed to like the limelight so much, Mitch found it amusing that he was getting so flustered.

At first it looked as though the man was going to remain simply staring at the instrument, embarrassment having taken over but he managed to take himself into his own world, relaxing, and after a few deep breaths to ready himself he started to play, a slow, simple yet somehow beautifully crafted melody, his fingers dancing over keys like magic.

And then he started to sing.

_"This road I walk, do you know where it takes me?"_

His voice was low and gentle, almost reflective, and Mitch found himself immediately lost to it all. There was something about the vibrations that felt so heavenly, as if it were liquid energy seeping right through his skin.

_"This road I walk, am I the only one who see's?"_

Everyone was already completely enraptured in the performance but Mitch sensed that Scott played for no one but himself, and even though the lyrics were so simple there was also something so sad about them, something so personal.

_"Oh life, it shines it's brightest when you're here by my side."_

The wistful tune slowed and then he stopped singing and just continued to play, the melodies casting themselves out into the evening air. Still the man was silent, head lowered so his expression was obscured, hair falling in front of his face.

Only a minute later, when you could tell the piece was coming to an end, did he start up again, his voice barely above a whisper but still as soulful and passionate as earlier.

 _"This road I walk, do you know where it takes me? This road I walk..."_ His voice tapered off, the words diminishing into silence as the man was unable to finish the lyrics and he ended with a sigh, before turning to face his captive audience and giving them a little nod of his head, indication that the show was over.

As he stood up the pain across his face was clear for all to see, and in the hushed atmosphere he quickly made his way through the crowds to find some empty space.

Mitch watched him go, an unexplained sadness filling his own heart as Kevin quietly spoke up beside him. "That was their song."

"Who's?" Mitch tilted his head in query, still keeping his gaze on Scott's retreating figure.

"Scott and Issy's," Kevin clarified. "Y'know about her, right?"

Mitch nodded.

"I don't think I've heard him play that since she..." He cut off and looking at him, Mitch saw that the song had brought back emotional memories for him too.

"Daddy's sad," Fox stated, equally upset by the sight of his father, little face watching his idol in confusion.

Avi came over at that point, crouching down by the little boy. "Hey," he said, nudging the boy's cheek. "Why don't you and me go clean up and see if there's any left over dessert?"

Somewhat reluctantly the boy left with his Uncle Avi and a little after Kevin followed. Clearly they thought their younger friend needed some time to himself. Mitch went to follow too but instead glanced back to Scott again, who had moved to the back of the garden, where the wooden fence was partially broken. The blond had sat himself in between the two remaining sides of fencing, sat on the floor with his back bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Mitch thought to leave him be, but there was something about him that just called for company, even if it wasn't very visible. Mitch of all people knew the signs of silent suffering.

Padding slowly over to the blond, he stood behind him for a moment, waiting to see if he was going to be sent away. When he wasn't he sat himself down next to him. "Not a bad view." From where they sat, they had a perfect view of the sun dipping behind the crest of the opposite hillside, sky awash and ablaze with colors found at the heart of a fire; he couldn't have imagined a better sunset. "You're good," he added, turning to Scott.

"Thanks," the man replied emotionlessly, blinking and rubbing a hand over his eyes a moment later. "Sorry, thank you," he repeated, a lot more sincerely this time, putting on a smile for the other man. "You play anything Mitchy?" he asked.

"A bit of piano. Had lessons when I was younger."

"Me too," Scott replied, chuckling lightly. "They were fucking boring." The orange glow of the sun caused his hair to shine like pure gold as he gazed out across the valley, still smirking. "All I ever played was Beethoven or Mozart of Bach shit."

"What lovely words to describe the music of the greatest composers in history."

The man laughed, the sound only coming out half forced this time. "I'm not against all that stuff. But it's nice to know how to play other genres." He moved so he was facing more towards Mitch. "My teacher always got so mad when I'd spent the week practicing Halo rather than Canon in D. Dad always found that funny..."

Mitch was taken aback for a second, for it was the first time Scott had mentioned either of his parents except for the one time where all the staff had been explaining the stories of how their parents met. Scott had told the story of how his dad had cycled to his mom's house everyday as a teenager to ask her out on a date until she said yes. But other than that sweet story he did not speak of them much. Then again neither did Mitch, or most of the others; it wasn't like talking about their parents was a common topic amongst them.

"Both would make good wedding songs," Mitch added, hoping to keep the man's spirits from dropping any lower.

"You want to?" Scott asked randomly, tilting his head in Mitch's direction. "Get married."

Mitch pulled a face at him. "To you?" he joked.

"Mitchy," the blond gasped and batted his eyes at him. "How very naughty of you."

"Says Mr Been Engaging in Preteen Flirtation All Week," he shot back.

Scott's face dropped. "Am I that obvious?"

"Were you not trying to be?" Mitch asked incredulously. "Are you that corny?"

"Probably," Scott smirked. "Believe it or not I don't have that much experience on the relationship side of things. Learnt most of what I know from movies."

 _Why does that not surprise me?_  Somehow though, as annoying as it could be, there was something sweet about knowing the way Scott was flirting with him came straight out of a teen movie.

"Me neither," Mitch slowly admitted. "We're not a thing," he made sure to add, "we only..."

"Only what?" Scott looked at him curiously.

Mitch cursed himself. He had almost slipped up, forgetting that Scott had no memory of the moment of drunken passion they had shared. "I'm still mad at you," he said simply, although his tone hardly carried the feeling of an angry man.

Scott picked at his nails nervously before looking Mitch straight in the eyes. "But you still like me?" he asked quietly.

It would have been easy to say no and shut down any further attempts of flirtation from the blond, easy to just build up his walls and shut him out. That was what the Mitch of the past would have done, that's what he'd taught himself to do. But the truth of the matter was that he had changed, in the short amount of time he'd been living here he'd changed a lot, and this new side to his personality didn't want to shut out all possibilities just because he was scared.

The truth was...the truth was he did like Scott, and that was saying something, for someone who had lied in front of his face and was far from what Mitch considered to be someone good for him. Perhaps however, that had always been the problem. Travis had been too good for him but Scott...well he had the stronger belief each and everyday that the man was just as messed up as he was, a man who hid a deep pain behind carefully constructed barriers; someone who might be able to cope with and emphasize with him, like Mitch had never trusted anyone else to do so before.

And so he didn't deny the man when he asked his question, sighing loudly and giving him a pleading look. "Scott..." He didn't want to talk about it right now.

"Okay, okay, I'll shut up," the man said, but the tiny glimmer of a smirk was proof he was happy with Mitch's reaction. "You haven't moved my hand," he then commented and Mitch looked down in surprise to notice than Scott's hand was indeed placed upon his knee, warm and comforting and most definitely in contact.

Shifting self-consciously, enough that Scott let go, he muttered: "Didn't notice it was there."

"Neither did I," Scott said cheekily, grinning into the lingering rays of orange sunlight. "I'm sorry," he said a moment later, voice serious again, "for all the trouble I've caused you."

"It's alright," Mitch replied, gaining a laugh from the blond.

"You're too nice Mitchy, too forgiving. I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd called the cops or something after...y'know." The hand was there again, although on his shoulder this time. "But you didn't, you stuck by me," Scott declared in admiration. "I'm not going to let you down."

Mitch felt his throat tighten at the man's words, knowing full well that was far from the truth and feeling the urge to reveal everything to Scott, but instead he held his restraint, merely saying: "Make sure you don't let Fox down first. You'd be doing yourself a huge disfavour if you didn't get to watch him grow up."

Though silent, he could see Scott taking in his words carefully, just like he always did when he was listening to something important. "Are you happy here Mitchy?" Scott asked quietly a little later, adding: "Away from your old home, and your old man."

For a moment Mitch was silent too. "I'm not sure," was the only answer he managed to produce after he realised Scott's intense stare was not going to lessen.

No reply. Mitch felt Scott's eyes still on him, piercing and probing. Then came a small laugh. "Y'know what?" Scott said, "I think that's the most honest thing you've ever said to me." Lifting his head back he allowed last of the light shone on his face, highlighting the few freckles around his nose and cheeks -  _where lion whiskers come from_ , Mitch smiled in thought.

He didn't know why, perhaps it was because of his good mood, but Mitch found himself revealing more than he was used to. "The past,  _my_  past, it can be scary at times but...I dunno, it's still my past, it was still the only life I knew. It's still with me," he whispered.

Scott gazed at him again, a new expression this time, and it was one of pure commonality, a sense of some connection between himself and Mitch that he had maybe only just confirmed. Searching around he picked up a piece of dried wood, placing it Mitch's perplexed hand. Then he found one for himself and smiled at the younger man. Raising the stick into the air in replacement of the usual glass or bottle, he announced: "To our pasts. May they taunt and fuck us, but never rule us."

His blue eyes looked at him expectantly and Mitch stared down at the stick in his own hand. He snorted out a laugh.

_This is so dumb._

Nevertheless he gave in to Scott's puppy face and raised his own bit of dead branch towards the blazing crimson sky. "Never rule us," he repeated, taking it more seriously than he expected.

Scott then proceeded to ruin the moment by initiating a "sword fight" with him; Mitch's scream alerting everyone that all was well again with their joint favorite sous chef and bringing a laughing four year old tearing towards them, eager to join in the play.

As soon as Fox joined in, Mitch actually found he had a new found love for stick fighting. He was better at it than soccer anyway.

 


End file.
